Because I knew my father to be a compassionate, unselfish man, I was caught a little off guard by this letter written by his younger self. While this early version of Dart often shows a deep sensitivity toward others and a maturity beyond his years, the one reflected today seems a little self-absorbed. I’ll enter most of his letter as it was written and let’s see if you share my assessment.
I got up too late today to have done anything of great importance. After our lunch (my breakfast), Pop and I did some wiring in the back bedroom, where Aunt Flora will stay if she comes here. I guess it’s pretty definite that she’ll come to our house if she comes to Cleveland at all. Mom will room with her, and I guess Pop will sleep wherever we find space to put him.
Although I approve of and admire the humanitarian efforts being extended to Aunt Flora, I can’t help but be a bit selfish, and if you would know me better you must know that I feel the presence of an extremely ill person in the house would be putting a tiny crimp in my already small habit of entertaining. It would not in the least alter your welcome here, but it would surely keep us from having any of our friends to dinner or for an evening. It’ll be continual trouble for Mom, too. Maybe I shouldn’t say that, for I’ve just discovered why I said it. I’m the inherently lazy guy I warned you about. (I’m afraid I’ll have to work harder here.) The Lord knows I don’t do as much as I should, and maybe this is His way of letting me know of His displeasure, by putting more of the long-shirked responsibilities on my shoulders.)
There, I’ve been honest at the risk of sounding cruel, or irreverent. I’ve shown a selfish streak. …I do believe in various members of a family standing by each other in times of crisis like this one. I think it’s fortunate that we all live so near that help can be afforded in cases like Aunt Flora’s. And I’d much rather Mother should spend time here taking care of Aunt Flora and us, than most of it in Ashtabula, and trying to keep our house together at the same time.
It seems that the tight ties of family unity, or whatever strange urge it is that has kept Aunt Elizabeth, Aunt Jo, Uncle Tom and Aunt Mary all unmarried for their entire lives, and which have kept all the family save one within 60 miles of each other, can’t be tied a little tighter to let those people without husbands and families and homes of their own devote a little more time to the care of one of their sisters who is so sick.They will be sharing some of the expense of bringing and keeping Aunt Flora here.
They seem to believe that their jobs, their evenings playing bridge with their spinster cronies, and their individual, hard-shelled, inviolable privacy are more important than the job of homemaking and home-keeping. They were surely willing to advise Mom in the raising of her kids. Maybe if they’d had their own kids, they’d have been a bit more understanding, and a bit more anxious for them to be social, instead of repressed and reserved and one-sided. Maybe the fact that Mom’s the only one of the family who’s had kids is the reason for her volunteering to take on the added (or continued) burden of caring for someone. The noble characteristic of sacrifice surely hasn’t been brought out in those who are aging spinsters. (From the content of this letter, does it look like the same spirit has been brought out in an aging sophomore who is writing these words? NO!)
I’ve never asked Mom why the Burke family isn’t the marryin’ kind. Three out of seven surely isn’t a hot average. (Note to readers: There were actually 8 Burke siblings, but at this stage in his life, Dart was apparently unaware of the existence of his Uncle Ab, who had been shunned by his family.) I guess jobs are important to people who have not one single other thing to live for. Aunt Elizabeth is 67 and her job keeps her alive. …Enough of this heartless irreverence, for they were good enough to provide us a home for six years, in a good neighborhood, and with good schools, thereby enabling us to enjoy many of the benefits we’d not otherwise have had.
He climbs down from his soapbox to write a little about the desk that he and Dot bought as their first piece of joint furniture – a desk that now sits in his bedroom. He plans to make some adaptations and repairs to the piece. He warns her that the monstrous table and the atrocious bookcase in his room are also “theirs,” whether they like them or not. “The table’s heavy and solid, but of poor (or no) style, and I don’t care too much for it’s dark finish. The bookcase is more appropriately called ‘the carpenter’s mistake’ or ‘the cabinet maker’s nightmare,’ but they are ours, and we may be lucky to have them. Thank goodness the wardrobe is Burke’s. I’d hate to have that thing on my hands, even to dispose of.”
He confirms that both he and his father enjoyed The Harvey Girls and look forward to seeing Road to Utopia. “Too bad that Bonnie and Bill aren’t planning on getting married very soon. Too bad that Dart and Dot aren’t, either.”
He will suggest to his mother Dot’s idea that she take him off his parents’ hands for a while. “Do you suppose, if we were married, the Olins (and the school) would let us stay in the house? Or if we were not married? Of course, either way, I’d rather stay somewhere else. And, of course it’d be much better, all the way ’round if we were married, wouldn’t it?”
He apologizes for sounding flippant about their being married, but under that is a deep longing, and a hurt at not being able to be, immediately.