The Gospel According to JC

JC at my 1988 wedding.

At the end of each workday, after he got dinner started, my father settled into a kitchen chair for a few moments of quiet contemplation, sipping Ouzo on the rocks. He would occasionally write his thoughts on 3 1/2 by 5-inch index cards, one thought per card, in cursive blue or black ink.

Over time, he built a three-inch stack of cards. These he stashed in a dresser drawer. They were sandwiched between pieces of cardboard and secured with rubber bands – seemingly so he could slip into the “chapters” additional thoughts as they arose.

The cards aren't dated, but a few refer to the year 1992, suggesting that some were written shortly before he passed away. James Caras died of a heart attack in February of that year; he was 62.

My mom, my sister and I found the stack – 217 cards in all – after his funeral. Some cards contain just a few words; others fill one side and spill onto the back. The
first card: The Gospel According to JC.

JC’s chapters include musings on his family, his work, his personal beliefs. Many are poignant, some funny, some R-rated and one or two, frankly, a little disturbing. My favorite chapter is “Comments I Might Make to a Son.” He never had a son (just my sister and me) but I have one. That 17-year-old has many of my dad’s positive traits, and to say that they would have loved each other is a supreme understatement.

Over the years, I’ve toyed with the idea of doing something with the cards. But nothing felt quite right. And then, when my dad came to mind because of Father’s Day this weekend, I figured that the cards had been sheltered in my desk long enough.

Like the person who wrote them, they’re not perfect. My dad was a smart, gentle man and a loving, dedicated father. But he didn't suffer fools lightly, sometimes blew up in anger at the inconsequential, and had difficulty making peace with the people and situations he felt betrayed by.

The stack’s second card provides a glimpse into the sharper edges that few outside the family saw: Why am I writing this? For posterity? Who cares. For publication? Hardly! For catharsis? Bullshit!

With that being said, I present a sampling of the gospel’s entries. It wasn’t easy to choose. First, I ruled out his critiques of the American political system, the American education system (my dad was a high school guidance director), the Greek Orthodox Church and organized religion in general. (Enough each for a blog post their own). I settled on those that made me think, made me smile, or made me chuckle. I chose the ones that might resonate still for my mom, my sister, my son, myself, and for you dear reader, because this gift is too special to keep to ourselves.

So here goes. Personal philosophy:
• What is the perfect man? One who listens to and follows his own heart.
• Intimidation is a kind of death. When you permit yourself to be intimidated into doing something you feel you should not, a small part of your uniquely beautiful being dies.
• Never make an idle threat, voice a meaningless comment or extend an undeserved compliment – unless you are a politician or a clergyman.
• Better to be thought a bastard than a jerk.
• It is your right to have and maintain all your hang-ups. You do not have the right to lay them on anyone else.
• There are those who see a bed of roses and behold beauty. There are others who see the same bed and can only imagine hidden rattlesnakes. Decide which you wish to be.
• The world is full of people who would not dare take a fat bite of life for fear the taste would be bitter. Don’t be one of them. If the taste is bitter, spit it out and bite again.
• May God protect me from doctors, lawyers and garage mechanics. All others I can deal with myself.

Friends, family and enemies:
• Respect, like love and friendship, is a two-way street. Give it only when you get it.
• Be sure you always know who your friends are and who your acquaintances are. Make many acquaintances. Limit your friends to a significant few.
• There will never be a shortage of “friends” who are willing to hold your coat while you slug it out. Piss on your coat and to hell with your gutless friends.
• React toward your relatives as you would toward your friends. If one looms an asshole, dump him. You really don’t need him at your funeral.
• Never try to “out piss” a skunk. You are not in his league. Better to bide your time, pick your place and then very methodically cut his head off.
• When you are being attacked by “big guns” and all you have is a pea-shooter – aim for the balls.

Wisdom with age:
• I have always loved without restriction or hesitation. Unfortunately, I have hated with the same intensity.
• Any decision that I permitted to be made for me, I lived to regret. I cannot think of a single exception.
• I have always been a keen observer of life. I would have liked it better to have been more of an active participant.
• During the first twenty years of my life, I was convinced that reincarnation was bunk. During the second twenty years of my life, I was convinced that reincarnation was fact. Now, I just don’t give a damn.
• Regrets? Yes, many. The one biggest regret is that I didn’t tell more people to “go fuck themselves.”

If you’re lucky enough that your father is living, get his “gospel” while you can still ask questions. I’d sure have a few for mine.

Dad and Baby Lizerella, 1964.

Mostly, though, I’d thank him for the cards, which include one about my sister and me: Both my daughters please me. I have never regretted having fathered them into this world. They have filled my heart with joy.

Right back at you, Dad. Happy Father’s Day.

A New Kind of Kind

It is only imperfection that complains of what is imperfect. The more perfect we are the more gentle and quiet we become towards the defects of others.
- Joseph Addison

My son’s first word wasn’t mama or dada. It was “niiiice.”

That was the word we used as we taught him to be gentle with our cats, Louie and Lauren. “Niiice” we said as we discouraged him from pouncing on them as they slept. “Niiice” again as we demonstrated how to stroke, not grab, their velvety coats.

Those lessons of kindness and gentleness were extended to all living beings throughout his childhood. And it appears that they’ve stuck. The 17-year-old he’s become is more sensitive and caring than I could have hoped for.

But now, I’m wondering whether his father and I taught him to be as kind and gentle with himself. At 47, it’s a lesson that I’m just beginning to learn for myself.

The most impactful reading I’ve done lately on a variety of subjects (Buddhism, spirituality, meditation, weight loss) has taught me that many of us never learn how to be niiice to ourselves. On the contrary, we often are downright harsh, in our self-talk and our actions. And when we are, it’s all that much harder to treat ourselves with care and to project positive thoughts and actions onto others.

We need an additional version of the Golden Rule, something like “Treat Yourself the Way You Treat Others.” Think about it. How many of us do a better job caring for others than ourselves? Are less judgmental with others? More patient? More forgiving?

I’m working hard on changing that for myself. As the Buddhist saying goes, “You can explore the universe looking for somebody who is more deserving of your love and affection than you are yourself, and you will not find that person anywhere.”

And unless you can give yourself what you deserve, you will not be able to give it to anyone else either. So simple, yet so elusive. I don’t remember being taught that concept. In fact, the lessons ingrained in my mind are more along the lines of “Put others first.” Thinking of yourself first was, well, selfish.

Not a bad lesson for an elementary school student. The problem is, the lesson never matured as I did. The result? I can be really tough on myself. Super critical. I rarely live up to my own expectations because they often can be summed up in one word: perfection. And if I can’t be perfect, then why bother trying?

That is certainly the case with me and my nearly 20-year weight battle. I’m angry and disappointed at myself for being overweight, and when I’m angry and disappointed, I can’t muster the energy to change it.

I’m trying to take the advice of the authors of two of the most recently popular weight loss books. “Only kindness makes sense,” says Geneen Roth, in her bestseller Woman, Food and God. “Anything else is excruciating.”

Through Marianne Williamson’s A Course in Weight Loss, I’m trying to learn what she calls the “discipline of love.”

“Love is merciful, gentle, understanding, patient, forgiving, and kind,” she says. “So you must be toward yourself as you go through this process.”

Those qualities come in handy in other endeavors as well. If I keep them in mind during meditation, I have a richer, deeper practice. Otherwise, I’m obsessing about perfect posture, aggressively following my breath, and before I know it, I’m making a grocery list and planning my next vacation.

The same is true for my djembe drumming hobby. The more critical and impatient I am with myself, particularly on challenging patterns, the worse I play. And the less I enjoy playing.

Whether it’s weight loss, meditation, drumming or life in general, I am working to remember that I’m human, and therefore, not perfect. Not even close. So I’m trying give myself a break. I’m trying to like myself, despite some things that I’d like to change. I’m trying to be more forgiving when I do something that I’d rather I hadn’t, or when I have an off moment, or day – or week. Because I know now that seeing, accepting, caring for and loving yourself is as perfect as it gets.