Kathryn Streeter’s writing has appeared in publications including Mamalode, BLUNTmoms, elephant journal and CSMonitor. The Briar Cliff Review, Volume 26 includes Streeter’s essay, a finalist in their Creative Nonfiction Contest. Connect with Kathryn on her website or on Twitter @streeterkathryn.
In January, our family left our charming Mass Ave condo in Indianapolis and now reside in Austin, Texas.
What Shakespeare Taught Me
About Family
I suspect
Shakespeare was hovering around my kitchen in Washington, D.C. Laughing. On the
night of reading group with glasses of wine in hand, we women had formed a
circle and were grousing about mothers. One friend who just resigned from a
high-stress government position shared the dynamics of vacationing overseas for
ten days with her mother. The trip celebrated her entrance into the private
sector, though next time a celebration trip is in order, I wouldn’t be
surprised if she chose a different traveling companion. Another friend is
expecting her second child very soon and has her mother coming to help out with
her precocious one-and-a-half year-old daughter. But with living quarters tight,
she confessed her anxiety that having mom around for a week would simply be
too-much-help. The other stories were similar in tone, evoking laughter and
empathy.
If present, Shakespeare
would be chuckling, “I told you so.”
The Bard knew
that family runs deep and brings along heightened emotion, an angle he used
often and effectively.
I continue more or less to
fulfill an old New Year’s resolution of reading one Shakespeare drama per month.
What this non-Shakespearian authority has noticed most pronouncedly is that often,
Shakespeare’s characters remind me of myself—whether if left unchecked, some
bitter feeling would fester and grow so acidic that I wouldn’t recognize the
monster I’d morphed into until it was too late.
Today’s cornucopia of
self-help books, chat sites, blogs and Dr. Phil-types dispensing advice addresses
the same sorry stuff Shakespeare’s characters wrestled against.
Perhaps everything we need
to know about familial relationships can be learned from Shakespeare.
In Julius Caesar, the playwright throws the light on the marriage
relationship. Portia is the devastated wife of the highly influential official
Brutus who commits high treason in conspiring against Julius Caesar. She can’t endure
the shock and humiliation and ends her life. The betrayed spouse, partner,
parent, child or sibling in the public eye distressed over a family member’s moral
failing is a scene straight out of 21st century politics.
It does indeed seem that
Shakespeare is ever-present today and not just in my kitchen.
In a favorite college
class, my seasoned professor confessed his preference for The Tragedy of King Lear. Father of an adult daughter, he considered
the theme of daughters-turning-on-father Shakespeare’s most heart wrenching.
Lecturing on the shame and mockery daughters Regan and Goneril leveled on their
dear old dad, my gray-haired professor’s emotion has stayed with me as I’ve
re-read King Lear. I’ve wondered if
he’d felt betrayed by his daughter.
Today, with a sassy young
daughter in the house, I’m beginning to understand the hurt kids can cause. But
when a child’s impertinence matures into an adult rebellion that provokes
lifelong pain? Destructive behaviors usually can’t be managed by appeals from
family.
Shakespeare sings that
last point repeatedly. Family is
special, and it cuts both ways.
The phone is ringing. My
dad calls when it’s least convenient and in my preoccupation, I’ve often got
little to say. Though I answer, I’m not really there.
“It’s Dad!” he booms. Too much enthusiasm and I cringe.
“Oh-hi-Dad-how-are-you?” I’m sure he can hear my voice is flat. I hate
myself for it even as I prepare to answer his predictable questions. But this
time is different: he’s calling as a proud father. It turns out he can’t find
the last story I’ve published. In real-time, he’s struggling to navigate the World-Wide-Web.
He needs my help.
I feel humbled, remember
Shakespeare and take a deep breath. Dear old dad.
This essay originally appeared on Mamalode: http://mamalode.com/
