Pedestal

When I was a little girl I adored my father. When I say adored I mean I idolized my father. There was a pedestal with three tiers, and on the highest one, edging Jesus out by several inches, was my father. Trailing in third was Michael Jackson -- Michael Jackson in the yellow poster that hung on my bedroom wall, not Michael with the unfortunate face and straight greasy curls.

My father would be hired to do Mother-Daughter teas in mildew-y smelling Lutheran Church basements. My mother rarely attended these teas, but my father and I would go because we were the "entertainment." Actually, my father was -- I was just his "Ed McMahon." I would guffaw and giggle and occasionally yell out the punchlines.

My father named his dummy Soren after the great Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard. He was the one who said that life could only be understood backwards, but lived forwards. Which makes sense when you think about it but now that I'm forty-seven sounds like I've been given the keys to a palace of truth. Seriously -- this life only makes sense in retrospect.

Soren (the dummy, not the philosopher) is made of wood and would sit on my father's knee. My dad is actually a great ventriloquist. I can hardly see his mouth move. But it's more than that -- when Soren is on his knee, it's like he's a person, too. People speak to Soren. They look into his wooden face with eyes that don't blink and wait for his responses. I could tell things to Soren that I would not tell to my father. Crazy, really. And when my father would tuck Soren inside his Samsonite suitcase at the end of the shows, I would go about my business as if nothing cruel were happening. In the suitcase Soren was just another puppet.

During the family reunion, Soren came back for a visit. I haven't seen him for years (and he really doesn't look like he's changed a bit -- same polyester suit and same bob hair cut) so it was good to see him. And just like before, I spoke to him and addressed him like he was separate from my father. Even when Soren forgot the same lyrics my father always forgot, I still thought "Poor Soren, he hasn't practiced this song in awhile and has gotten rusty."

I wish I exaggerated.

It's strange to say that a man who is so good at transference ... is that the right word... maybe? Anyway -- it's strange to say that a man who is so good at transference and trickery could be my childhood hero. I think even then I gave a lot of credit to someone who could help me forget. I adored anyone who could transfer me to another place and time or to a new reality outside of myself. Even at four, I was so stuck in my head -- so sure that the world was ever focused and dependent on me -- that anyone who could break that focus deserved not only my respect and love but my loyalty.

It was good to see Soren. It was good to see my father in his element. It was good to remember all the times I'd accompany the two of them and how special I felt being his biggest fan.

He's helped me get my pedestals in order.