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The legend...Mr Kite

A Milestone: Lexi ready for her first dance. 

​​Last month, tragically, an Amherst classmate of mine lost his 15 year-old son. It has haunted me, especially with a 13-year old under my roof. I can’t imagine anything more painful than burying a child. As a writer, I imagine a lot – and nothing trumps this.
 
On his facebook page, this friend wrote, “I’m a dad. That’s all I ever wanted to be. The rest is just gravy.”
 
Of course, when we were in college, I never guessed all he ever wanted to be was a dad, and he probably didn’t either. He was incredibly goofy (he still is), but I get it. When you grasp who your child is for the first time, you experience a paradigm shift. You realize that “parent” is the most fulfilling identity you’ll have, second only to “self”.
 
His comment has stayed with me: “The rest is just gravy.”
 
Do we spend too much time focusing on the gravy, at the expense of what’s really important?
 
This drove me down a rabbit hole to write down what is really important.
1) Health (physical, mental, spiritual, because without it….)
2) Close knit loving Family and Friends, a circle that expands over time
3) Money (because, as I’m still discovering, without it…the stress, the stress!!).
4) Meaningful Pursuit – one that uses your talent, that makes a difference, that adds to others’ lives
 
All the rest – while some of it is very important – I think could really just be gravy.
Did I miss anything?
 
And I hear you, gravy is important – who wants a life of plain vanilla ice cream with no sauce?
 
It just seems that in this age of social media with the excessive need to post everything you do online, the gravy can drown out the fundamentals.
 
With a teen and tween under my roof, I am aware of how heavy the Kurse of the Kardashians lies on this generation.  The urge to be famous and therefore validated, to be (literally) “liked” is a tsunami of gravy that drowns out real connection and vulnerability. We are told we don’t matter unless we’re “somebody”. We have “failed” unless we “make it”. It's hard to cultivate self-love in an over-processed culture.
We bury our very selves in the pursuit of gravy.
 
In researching my friend Janine’s family history for her book, one of her cousins nailed the essentials, and early in his life.
 
For starters, Janine’s mother is actually first cousins with these three brothers. Yet this is the kind of family whereby Janine herself became like a first-cousin to them, and their families have stayed close, for generations! Jean Claude created a publishing company, on which he made a tremendous profit, when he sold it at the age of 40. With some of that money, he bought a vineyard in Provence (right?!?!). Because family meant everything to him, Jean Claude began an annual tradition wherein his brothers and their families, and “cousine” Janine and her family would make an annual pilgrimage to the vineyard for Bastille Day, celebrating the week together. Every year they would roast a lamb on their last day together, bask in the Provencal sun, and of course, drink Jean Claude’s wine. They would laugh, and celebrate whatever kind of year they had lived, and toast to family in the warmth of the beautiful French countryside. After selling his publishing company, Jean Claude also became a writer himself, upon discovering his Jewish ancestors were the money stewards for the popes in Avignon. When he passed, the family was devastated.
 
A pretty solid life.
 
Another solid life is that of my favorite English teacher, whom I was lucky to have for three years. Yesterday I learned he died on my daughter’s 13th birthday. Thanks to Dr. Jon Kite, I am a writer. (Though he was too humble to go by “Dr”, despite the fact that his Ph.D. was from Stanford). Mr. Kite’s passing has deeply affected me, as I realize that the grownups who knew me when I was a kid are vanishing. Sans Kite, Paris is forever emptier. The last time I saw him was the last time I was in Paris. I took a bunch of high school kids to France in 2006, and Kite joined me in a Brasserie. We reminisced late into the night. Mr. Kite’s love of humor and literature and teaching and drinking and smoking made him a joyful curmudgeon, a paradox he fully embraced. The myriad of tributes that are pouring out on our high school FB page show what a legend he was, how many lives he affected by showing up and sharing his passion, in his case, for great writing.
 
The rest
 
I do believe

​is all
 
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