Elephants never forget
Published: Wednesday, April 25, 2012 9:49 AM CDT
When my mother was a young girl, her father gave her a small elephant figurine that he had brought back with him following his deployment during World War II. A self-professed “Daddy’s girl,” my mother loved the gift almost as much as she loved her hero-father. Little did he know that one souvenir pachyderm would eventually become a herd of over two hundred elephant keepsakes amassed by my mom over the next sixty years. Tragically, he would not live to see his little girl or her collection grow because a few short years after giving his beloved daughter the gift, my grandfather took his own life.
I don’t think my mother ever fully recovered from the shock of suddenly and inexplicably losing her dad. Nevertheless, she always spoke fondly of him rather than with bitterness in her voice. As the years passed, Mom would pick up miniature elephants at garage sales and flea markets and display them throughout the house as a reminder of her father. They say elephants never forget. By collecting elephant figurines, Mom made sure she never forgot her daddy.
Being lazy shoppers, my brother and I gave our mom elephants for her birthday every single year. We also gave them to her for Mother’s Day and Christmas, too. It was automatic. But she seemed to love them all, mostly because she loved her boys. Little did I realize that her beloved herd would one day become mine.
When Mom was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer a few years ago, the disease had already spread to her brain before anyone knew there was a problem. She fought valiantly, undergoing brain surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation. As much as she suffered, she could have been forgiven for throwing in the towel. She could have refused to receive further treatments. She could have followed in her father’s footsteps and taken the easy way out. Instead, she maintained a brave face and her dignity throughout, never forgetting the impact it had on her when her own parent gave up.
Mom stubbornly held on long enough for Bethany and me to bring Truman home from China. A week later, I convinced her to move in with us so we could look after her and so she could get to know her new grandson. Three weeks later, she died in our home, surrounded by everyone she loved. When Blake and I later sorted through her possessions, the only items I cared about keeping were photographs and of course, her elephants.
Today, all but a couple dozen of her pint-sized pachyderms are packed away in my storage room. Nevertheless, you will still see elephants in virtually every room of our house. Some of my favorites are the Asian elephants Mom had. These hold a special significance to me for a couple reasons. For one, her collection started with an Asian elephant. Also, a few Asian elephants still live in the jungles of southern China, near the area where Truman is from. Plus, we have some pieces of Chinese art displayed in our house and the Asian elephants compliment them quite well.
Last week, for the first time in my life, I bought an elephant piece for myself. I had no intentions of ever adding to an already excessive collection, but in this case, the decision was practically made for me. My friend Monica Mauney painted a stunning work of abstract art that I knew I had to have as soon as I saw it. Though I did not commission the painting, Fate must have. Set against a gorgeous red sky at sunset is the silhouette of an elephant with its trunk raised to the heavens. High in the red sky there are three brightly shining stars. (The Chinese flag also features stars on a red background.) To me, the three stars represent my three kids, two of which are Chinese, and the elephant represents my mom, who seems to be calling out to her three grandkids, no doubt telling them how much she loves them.
We love you, too, Nonna. And we, like your elephants, will never forget.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
April 18th Column
Categorically Lazy
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Last week, I received a “kick in the pants” email from my book editor (my cousin Larry) that warned that due to my slacking-off on the book-writing front, I was running the danger of becoming known only as a writer of a weekly small town newspaper column rather than as the world-famous author of several best-sellers that I planned on writing someday. I have to hand it to Larry; appealing to my delusions of grandeur while preying on my insecurities is a very effective way to get my attention.
The tough-love from my cousin is both deserved and appreciated. Not only have I failed to start writing the follow-up to my runaway hit “Naked Snow Angels”, (a book that sold literally tens of copies worldwide), but I have also neglected to update my blog and my website (www.travisnaughton.com) for months. I could excuse my lack of output by claiming that I am too busy being a stay-at-home dad/husband/housekeeper/cook/dishwasher/taxi driver/groundskeeper/grocery-getter/clothes-washer/sorter/folder to write more, but the truth is that I am just plain lazy.
I could do more with the three hours of free time I have each morning while Truman is at preschool, but if you could kick your kids out the door at 7:45 a.m. and have the house to yourself for a precious few hours afterwards, wouldn’t you crawl under the covers and go back to sleep, too?
I don’t do mornings because I am a night owl, and by 10:00 p.m. I’m usually the last one up at the Naughton house. I suppose I should use that time to write, but more often than not, the lethal combination of a comfy recliner and a high definition television set kill my desire to work. This is especially true after a long day of doing chores and/or watching sports.
The philosopher Immanuel Kant wrote, “Act only according to that maxim whereby you can, at the same time, will that it should become a universal law.” In other words, only do those things which you would want everyone to do under the same circumstances. Kant called this moral law his Categorical Imperative. If I live by the Categorical Imperative and I choose to be lazy and neglect to live up to my creative potential, then I am implicitly willing that everyone be lazy and neglect their creative potential. This of course would be unsustainable because eventually there would be no new programming on my HDTV worth watching.
Therefore, in order to please Kant and my dozens of faithful readers, (and guarantee the future productivity and continuation of the human race), I need to begin my next writing project ASAP. Larry was absolutely right saying that by not writing more I am running the risk of only being known for writing a column in a small town newspaper. But I don’t think that’s a bad thing necessarily. I thoroughly enjoy writing this column for the Journal, and judging by the feedback I’ve received, there are a few folks in Southern Boone County who enjoy reading it each week. One afternoon not long ago, a woman introduced herself to me and said that one of my columns actually changed her life. She said that she had reached a point in her life where she needed a push in a new direction, an impetus to make a better life for herself. At that same moment in time, New Year’s Day, I had written an article about hitting life’s reset button on January 1st thereby giving us all an opportunity to reinvent ourselves and live up to our full potential. The woman said that when she read my column, she instantly realized what she needed to do in order to improve her life. She said she cut out my column and posted it to her bulletin board so she could see it every day and remain motivated. Soon thereafter, she enrolled in college and began to change her life for the better. Then she said to me, “I just wanted to say ‘thank you’ and tell you how much your column meant to me.”
I was humbled by the woman’s kind words and moved to tears listening to her story. I realized right then and there that being known only as a writer of a weekly small town newspaper was good enough for me.
The tough-love from my cousin is both deserved and appreciated. Not only have I failed to start writing the follow-up to my runaway hit “Naked Snow Angels”, (a book that sold literally tens of copies worldwide), but I have also neglected to update my blog and my website (www.travisnaughton.com) for months. I could excuse my lack of output by claiming that I am too busy being a stay-at-home dad/husband/housekeeper/cook/dishwasher/taxi driver/groundskeeper/grocery-getter/clothes-washer/sorter/folder to write more, but the truth is that I am just plain lazy.
I could do more with the three hours of free time I have each morning while Truman is at preschool, but if you could kick your kids out the door at 7:45 a.m. and have the house to yourself for a precious few hours afterwards, wouldn’t you crawl under the covers and go back to sleep, too?
I don’t do mornings because I am a night owl, and by 10:00 p.m. I’m usually the last one up at the Naughton house. I suppose I should use that time to write, but more often than not, the lethal combination of a comfy recliner and a high definition television set kill my desire to work. This is especially true after a long day of doing chores and/or watching sports.
Therefore, in order to please Kant and my dozens of faithful readers, (and guarantee the future productivity and continuation of the human race), I need to begin my next writing project ASAP. Larry was absolutely right saying that by not writing more I am running the risk of only being known for writing a column in a small town newspaper. But I don’t think that’s a bad thing necessarily. I thoroughly enjoy writing this column for the Journal, and judging by the feedback I’ve received, there are a few folks in Southern Boone County who enjoy reading it each week. One afternoon not long ago, a woman introduced herself to me and said that one of my columns actually changed her life. She said that she had reached a point in her life where she needed a push in a new direction, an impetus to make a better life for herself. At that same moment in time, New Year’s Day, I had written an article about hitting life’s reset button on January 1st thereby giving us all an opportunity to reinvent ourselves and live up to our full potential. The woman said that when she read my column, she instantly realized what she needed to do in order to improve her life. She said she cut out my column and posted it to her bulletin board so she could see it every day and remain motivated. Soon thereafter, she enrolled in college and began to change her life for the better. Then she said to me, “I just wanted to say ‘thank you’ and tell you how much your column meant to me.”
I was humbled by the woman’s kind words and moved to tears listening to her story. I realized right then and there that being known only as a writer of a weekly small town newspaper was good enough for me.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Making Memories
Memory Maker
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By Travis Naughton
One day when I was a teenager growing up in Hannibal, Missouri, I suddenly became aware that my days of worry-free childhood were numbered. Most of my friends had part-time jobs by then, which I thought was pretty much the worst thing that could ever happen to a person. I remember telling my dad, who had been strongly encouraging me to get a job, that I wasn’t ready to be a grown up just yet. Shortly thereafter, I was flipping burgers at a fast foot joint for $3.35 an hour and hating every single second of it. I came home each night smelling like 100% pure beef lard, French fries, and unfulfilled childhood dreams. It was horrible.On a day off from work a few weeks later, I was playing football with some friends in Riverview Park when my father drove up and interrupted our game to tell me that my boss had called and needed me to come in to work for someone who had called in sick. I got in the car with my dad, changed into my polyester, grease-stained uniform, and begrudgingly reported for work. At that precise moment I realized the impending death of my care-free boyhood could not be avoided. I was miserable.
I quit that job a few days later and resolved to make the most of the time I had left before I was forced to become a responsible adult. Knowing that once I finally became a permanent member of the rat race I would have precious few opportunities to recreate and enjoy the simple pleasures of obligation-free life, I vowed to experience as many fun and memorable things as I could. I planned to take those memories with me wherever life’s journey took me, to sustain me through the dark ages of growing older and being weighted down by the pressures of the real world.
It was a fine plan, and I do have lots of unforgettable memories of my time in high school, many of which are documented in my book Naked Snow Angels. I continued this mission in college, which may explain why it took seven years to earn a four-year degree. From taking a roadtrip with friends from my dormitory to New Madrid to be present for the predicted apocalyptic earthquake that never happened in 1990 to going on an epic roadtrip to Las Vegas with my roommate Bill (who is still working on his four-year degree twenty-two years later,) I did it all and made lots of blurry memories.
Every now and then, I fall into a rut and catch myself just going through the motions in life. Such has been the case recently. The kid in me hates that. Therefore in 2012, I am rededicating myself to making memories (for me and my family). I’ll write about those experiences in this column. I hope you will be inspired to make some of your own unforgettable memories, too.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Happy New Year
My last column of 2011:
Happy New You
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I love the tradition of making New Year’s resolutions. One year, back when I was a teenager, I resolved to stop using the word “smurf” as a verb. I have say, I really smurfed that one out of the park. Another year, I vowed to drop “cornucopia” from my vocabulary. I survived by substituting “plethora” in its place. Don’t even get me started on the year I promised to stop saying the word “fixin’,” as in, “I’m fixin’ to go fix me a turkey dinner with all the fixin’s.” As you can imagine, that was a pretty tough one to stick to, but I somehow I managed.
Most New Year’s resolutions are slightly more meaningful. We’ve all vowed to eat better and exercise more. Some of us have promised to give up a bad habit such as drinking, smoking, or cursing. A few of us have sworn to build our sons treehouses. I put that one in writing on December 30, 2006. You may recall that I finally fulfilled that promise just a few weeks ago.
The beauty of making New Year’s resolutions is that it gives us an opportunity to reinvent ourselves. If we have become less than satisfied with who we have become over the past 365 days, we can hit a reset button and start over on January 1. The following is an excerpt from my blog written on January 1, 2009:
“I love to reinvent myself each year. I make resolutions that help to redefine who I am. It’s almost like creating a character in a story. I can write my character to be however I want. In years past I have changed my character from a shallow, self-centered drunk to a caring father and husband who writes a ridiculous blog. Last year, my character was a mostly tragic figure beginning with the death of my beloved dog Jake on January 10 and ending with the death of my dear mother on December 30. This year, my character will be a comic figure. I resolve to play the role of an unemployed philosopher who is writing his first book and blogging about his adventures as a stay at home dad. He is a man who makes people laugh wherever he goes. He doesn’t take himself too seriously and when life gets messy, he just rolls with it rather than feel sorry for himself. When people are around him, they can’t help but smile. He lives to make others happy, which in turn makes him happy. He treats his wife and kids with love and respect. He rarely gets angry and when he does he gets over it quickly and never holds a grudge. He spends more time with his friends no matter how far away they live and no matter how high gas prices get because he understands how fleeting life is and how few opportunities we have to spend time with those we care about. Guys want to be him and girls want to be with him. He is Magnum P.I., Cosmo Kramer, and Buddy the Elf all wrapped up into one irresistible, enigmatic, and ridiculous character. This is the character I have always wanted to play…”
How did I do with that resolution/reinvention? Well, I wrote and published that first book. I turned my blog about being a stay-at-home dad into this column. I continue to try to make people laugh. I am good to my wife and kids and friends. I guess you could say, I really smurfed that one out of the park.
Happy New You!
Most New Year’s resolutions are slightly more meaningful. We’ve all vowed to eat better and exercise more. Some of us have promised to give up a bad habit such as drinking, smoking, or cursing. A few of us have sworn to build our sons treehouses. I put that one in writing on December 30, 2006. You may recall that I finally fulfilled that promise just a few weeks ago.
The beauty of making New Year’s resolutions is that it gives us an opportunity to reinvent ourselves. If we have become less than satisfied with who we have become over the past 365 days, we can hit a reset button and start over on January 1. The following is an excerpt from my blog written on January 1, 2009:
“I love to reinvent myself each year. I make resolutions that help to redefine who I am. It’s almost like creating a character in a story. I can write my character to be however I want. In years past I have changed my character from a shallow, self-centered drunk to a caring father and husband who writes a ridiculous blog. Last year, my character was a mostly tragic figure beginning with the death of my beloved dog Jake on January 10 and ending with the death of my dear mother on December 30. This year, my character will be a comic figure. I resolve to play the role of an unemployed philosopher who is writing his first book and blogging about his adventures as a stay at home dad. He is a man who makes people laugh wherever he goes. He doesn’t take himself too seriously and when life gets messy, he just rolls with it rather than feel sorry for himself. When people are around him, they can’t help but smile. He lives to make others happy, which in turn makes him happy. He treats his wife and kids with love and respect. He rarely gets angry and when he does he gets over it quickly and never holds a grudge. He spends more time with his friends no matter how far away they live and no matter how high gas prices get because he understands how fleeting life is and how few opportunities we have to spend time with those we care about. Guys want to be him and girls want to be with him. He is Magnum P.I., Cosmo Kramer, and Buddy the Elf all wrapped up into one irresistible, enigmatic, and ridiculous character. This is the character I have always wanted to play…”
Happy New You!
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
My Take on Albert Pujols
Living on $69,589 (or $2.67) a day
Published: Wednesday, December 14, 2011 9:40 AM CST
I don’t get out much. Living in the sticks forces me to limit my excursions to civilization in order to conserve gas, so often times the only contact I have with people not related to me occurs when I go to pick Truman up at preschool. I enjoy visiting with the stay-at-home moms who gather outside the classroom each day very much, but sometimes I yearn for an opportunity to talk about “guy stuff” such as sports and cars and flatulence.
That is why I was thrilled this morning when one of the moms broached the subject of Albert Pujols. The all-star first baseman who thrilled the fans of the St. Louis Cardinals for the last eleven years broke the hearts of those same fans last week when he accepted an offer to play for the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim. The Redbirds offered King Albert a ten year deal worth around $210 million, but the slugger opted to take the ten year, 254 million dollar deal offered by a team with a fan base who has not lived and died with every swing of his mighty bat for the last decade. While Albert claims that his decision to move on was not about the money, it is hard for Cards fans to accept the implication that our adoration and the organization’s $21 million per year was not enough to convince him to remain a Redbird for life.
I am not mad at Albert Pujols for leaving. I am disappointed in him sure, but I am more disappointed in myself for investing so much of my heart and soul and time and money in supporting him so fervently over the past eleven years. My oldest child Alex is eleven, and I am beginning to realize how much time I wasted watching a complete stranger play a game while my own son patiently waited for his dad to give him a little attention. That’s a pretty sobering realization.
One of the other moms involved in our conversation had a vague notion of who Pujols is, but admitted she didn’t even know his first name. At first I wondered if she had been living under a rock, but then I realized that this was a person who had her priorities in order. She said she didn’t own a Cardinals ball cap, but the more she thought about it, she actually didn’t want one. Instead, she wanted a cap with the number 3 on it. When I asked her why, she said, “Because of my three kids.” Priorities.
$254,000,000.00. The moms and I tried to wrap our heads around the concept of any one man earning that much money. The calculator on my iphone tells me that Mr. Pujols will receive $69,589 every day for the next ten years of his life. I guess he didn’t think he could survive on the $57,534 per day that St. Louis was willing to give him. My wife gives me a monthly allowance of $80 (which she labels in our budget as “Trav’s Fun Money”) for doing the housework and performing the duties of being a stay-at-home parent. That’s my walkin’ around money, my going out with my friends once in a blue moon money. That amounts to $2.67 per day. $2.67 for the privilege of raising three wonderful children. I should probably pay to have that privilege. (Don’t tell my wife that.)
I think I’ll save up some of my allowance for a new hat. One with the number 3 on it.
Published: Wednesday, December 14, 2011 9:40 AM CST
I don’t get out much. Living in the sticks forces me to limit my excursions to civilization in order to conserve gas, so often times the only contact I have with people not related to me occurs when I go to pick Truman up at preschool. I enjoy visiting with the stay-at-home moms who gather outside the classroom each day very much, but sometimes I yearn for an opportunity to talk about “guy stuff” such as sports and cars and flatulence.
That is why I was thrilled this morning when one of the moms broached the subject of Albert Pujols. The all-star first baseman who thrilled the fans of the St. Louis Cardinals for the last eleven years broke the hearts of those same fans last week when he accepted an offer to play for the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim. The Redbirds offered King Albert a ten year deal worth around $210 million, but the slugger opted to take the ten year, 254 million dollar deal offered by a team with a fan base who has not lived and died with every swing of his mighty bat for the last decade. While Albert claims that his decision to move on was not about the money, it is hard for Cards fans to accept the implication that our adoration and the organization’s $21 million per year was not enough to convince him to remain a Redbird for life.
I am not mad at Albert Pujols for leaving. I am disappointed in him sure, but I am more disappointed in myself for investing so much of my heart and soul and time and money in supporting him so fervently over the past eleven years. My oldest child Alex is eleven, and I am beginning to realize how much time I wasted watching a complete stranger play a game while my own son patiently waited for his dad to give him a little attention. That’s a pretty sobering realization.
One of the other moms involved in our conversation had a vague notion of who Pujols is, but admitted she didn’t even know his first name. At first I wondered if she had been living under a rock, but then I realized that this was a person who had her priorities in order. She said she didn’t own a Cardinals ball cap, but the more she thought about it, she actually didn’t want one. Instead, she wanted a cap with the number 3 on it. When I asked her why, she said, “Because of my three kids.” Priorities.
$254,000,000.00. The moms and I tried to wrap our heads around the concept of any one man earning that much money. The calculator on my iphone tells me that Mr. Pujols will receive $69,589 every day for the next ten years of his life. I guess he didn’t think he could survive on the $57,534 per day that St. Louis was willing to give him. My wife gives me a monthly allowance of $80 (which she labels in our budget as “Trav’s Fun Money”) for doing the housework and performing the duties of being a stay-at-home parent. That’s my walkin’ around money, my going out with my friends once in a blue moon money. That amounts to $2.67 per day. $2.67 for the privilege of raising three wonderful children. I should probably pay to have that privilege. (Don’t tell my wife that.)
I think I’ll save up some of my allowance for a new hat. One with the number 3 on it.
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