Vulnerability, imperfection....in homage to a son caring for his father!
I’m OK with being imperfect. But
I’m not OK without trying. So I had to do it.” Richard Lui, in conversation
with Craig Melvin on NBC’s Today show on Monday of this week. Lui, a long-time
NBC journalist, has just written a book, entitled, “Enough About Me,” that
chronicles his seven-year pilgrimage of care-giving to his father, along with
his mother and siblings. After the family realized the stress of the physical
and emotional toll on other mother, four years into this journey, the family
decided to put their ‘father-husband’ patriarch into a long-term care facility.
First Richard would fly from New
York to San Francisco two or three times a month, a ten-hour trip door-to-door,
in order to take the shift from 11p.m. until 5 a.m. His employer, NBC, gave him
permission to cut back his hours so that his own journey into ‘selflessness,’
something his father, a pastor and then a social worker, had modelled
throughout his life.
From the Today account, Richard
is quoted: “He was just really honest with his sickness. He was very open to
vulnerability which I thought was great lesson to me personally, because that
was not the same Stephen Lui (his father) that I knew growing up. And as he
went through this process early on, before his started to forget stuff, that
was what he was showing me….I think he taught me to thing about who I am, as
I’ve talked to you about this caregiving journey. And it’s led to a book that I
would have never thought of even starting…in the book I really show how I have
basically goofed up over the years, and how I can be vulnerable too because
being vulnerable in part of being selfless….We make a conscious decision about
every 15 minutes. And if we can just once a day, ‘I’m going to get lunch. I am
going to call somebody.’ How do I add selfless motion to that? So I would say,
once a day, think of doing something a little different.”
About his father’s current
condition, and his attempts to ‘connect’ Richard is quoted as saying: “He can’t
hear, so I put on some amplifier headphones on him and I would get the
microphone. And I said, OK, this is Richard, do you remember me? I’m your son?
If so, blink once.’ And he goes, (blink). Craig, another one of those moments
where I am just like, I don’t know what I was doing before or the last 10
years….Obviously, we’re using video calls, pictures and the times that I’ve
been able to visit him I’ve had to do it through a glass window (during
COVID-19). And I ju9st hope every single time when I’m looking at him, waving
at him, that he’s OK, and that he knows that I’m there.”
To a journalist, timing is very
important, and to Richard Lui, his Asian heritage is under severe attack in
America, and beyond, in the wake of the pandemic. Commenting on this overt
bigotry and racism, Lui says to Craig Melvin in the Today interview, “We have
seen, unfortunately, during the viral pandemic, folks that are not considerate
of others. We have seen people that when we talk about racial strife, looking
at the color of a person’s skin, and deciding to treat them less than human,
because they can’t see that they are very human. That’s selfish. We have seen
shootings and individuals that are using hate and violence…it is a time for us
to figure out how to stop all this stuff.”
Richard Lui’s story, both of
caregiving and the transformative experience that has had on his own life, in
opening him to acknowledge, and to accept his own vulnerability, and even his
own selflessness, as a gift and a blessing, and also of his perception on
racism against people of colour, provides a fitting and dramatic frame for
where we are in the world at this moment.
All of us fear getting old; all
of us fear falling into a mental chasm such as dementia or Alzheimer’s, and all
of us fear doing so alone. At the same time, millions of stories akin to
Richard Liu’s are springing up through the anxiety, the depression, the fear
and the inescapable mortality that has been clouding the waves of public
information since the pandemic began. Stephen Lui’s courage, forthrightness and
frankness about his own impending decline have been an inspiration to his son,
and, somewhat paradoxically, in and through the process of caring for his
father, he has come to an even greater “insight” that has made him ‘wonder’
about his previous life.
That paradox has been shining,
through the veil of our tears, and our sadness as, even when taking a walk in a
public place, we are noticing barely perceptible smiles as the eyes of complete
strangers meet, for less than a second, in acknowledgement of each other, of
the moment we are living, and of our common human vulnerability. And those
nano-second smiles cross gender, generational and social lines, in a way many
of us have never experienced. Very shy people, including young men and women
currently engaged in academic studies, are casting a brief glance of
‘connection’ even in the midst of a brisk and chilling wind, warming the hearts
of all they meet.
For men, especially,
vulnerability is not an experience many find even tolerable, let alone freeing
and life-giving. Richard Lui’s story, however, puts the lie to that stereotype.
And it is a binding, fossilizing and paralyzing image that many men firmly
believe they must uphold. They do so, however, at their peril, as well as the
‘peril’ of those in their family and in their workplace. In remaining locked in
a mind-set of invulnerability, of strength, of imperviousness, of repressed
affect, (no matter the degree to which this leg-iron pinches) men are robbed of
one of the most sensitive features of our full potential: our deeply caring,
empathic and even intuitive understanding of the pain and suffering of the
other, whether or not we give ourselves permission to ‘show’ that side of who
we are.
“Think of who I am” is a phrase
from Richard Lui, that, taken as applicable by other men, can and will pry open
the locked safety-box (how ironic is that?) of our masculine heart, and the
opening may well shock us, as we enter into that thought process. It will not
be a brief moment, but rather a path that extends deep into the forest of our
memory, our associations, our accomplishments and failures, in the density of
previously untrod paths, of rock out-croppings previously ignored, or denied,
avoided for many reasons not always part of our consciousness.
Richard Lui’s journey into
self-discovery, is not, paradoxically, narcissistic, and must not be seen to be
such by other men, who, at the moment are timid about opening that door. Enough
About Me, paradoxically, is about shedding that warrior armour, not
permanently, or even in shame or rejection. There are times for its legitimate
deployment, yet it need not be a permanent “suit” protecting us from the
invasion of others who might get to know us, (horrors!) and also preventing us
from getting to know and respect and honour who we really are.
In honouring and shedding light
on Richard Lui, in and through his father’s illness, and also in and through
his recent book, we offer his platinum model, not only of care-giving of
elderly and declining parents, but even more importantly the model of that
surrender and sacrifice for and to another, as a, perhaps one of the best, path
toward self-consciousness, in the full sense of that concept.
Imagine if we all had to wear a
small sign around our neck, declaring, “I am __________, do you know who I am?
as a literal and also a metaphoric act of vulnerability and connection in a
world that can be said to be in danger of withering on the branch of the tree
of deep and authentic relationship. That picture, borrowed from Richard Lui,
evokes memories of broken, fragmented, disconnected and desperate conversations,
mostly about planning for action, with others in both professional and personal
exchanges, in which we all have felt, and thereby believed, that we were simply
“unknown” …and the irony may well be that we, ourselves, were unconsciously
engaged in a process of protecting ourselves from being known, because we
thought, believed, perhaps ever were trained to “act responsibly” and
productively, and objectively and especially in a detached manner. For many of
us, to behave otherwise, is, or was, or worse, may continue to be, to shatter
our public image of strength, durability, professionalism and credibility and
gravitas.
David Suzuki, just having turned
85 this week, in a conversation with Andrew Chang, after warning that climate
change is more threatening by far than the pandemic, reminded Chang not to
forget “first you are an animal”….as if to remind us all that we are far more
basic, unrefined, perhaps even unpredictable and certainly vulnerable that we
might like to consider ourselves. Perhaps Suzuki and Lui have more in common
that would, at first appear. Perhaps, getting to know “who we are” in the full
complexity, both the conscious and the unconscious, is an invitation we need to
accept if we are going to begin to act as if our often-chorused cliché about
“all being in this together” is going to have the kind of meaning and impact
its potency carries. Just as Suzuki has opened the eyes of the world to the wonders of nature, so too is Richard Lui opening his and others' eyes to the wonders of who we are.
We all wish David Suzuki a very
happy 85th, and many more (including adding to the already completed
60 years of his internationally acclaimed ‘Nature of Things’ program
originating on CBC) and we wish Richard Lui and his father and even deeper
connection in these dark days inside the long-term care facility and around the
globe.
And we thank both of them for the candles they have lit and the hearts and minds they will continue to light, in what many consider an impenetrable darkness.