What If?
April 20th, 2010
What If? By Stan Weddle
I tell people that I’m the oldest of my siblings. That’s not exactly true. About a year before I was born, my parents had a son who lived only a few hours. He was named after my dad. I didn’t know he existed until I was, maybe five or six. I remember going on a ride in the car to a place in the country, near my grandparent’s farm. We drove up a rutted lane as far as we could, then walked on to a little country cemetery. We walked around among the gravestones and found a plot with a faded metal marker. I was told this was the grave of my brother who would have been called Junior. His body was too weak to survive, I was told. I was too young to think very much about it at the time. Later, when I asked about it, I wasn’t given any more information than I learned that day. I guess that I sensed that that was enough to know; I didn’t ask about it again. I don’t remember ever going to the cemetery again. Few times was he even mentioned. I’ve only recently thought about him, and wondered how life would have been different if he had survived.
My father died a few years ago, and I can’t ask him about his feelings and actions. Since his death, I have wondered about lots of things that I would like to know the “what and why” of. My mother is still living and I often ask her things that I remember, and about which I have questions. I haven’t had the opportunity to discuss this with her yet. Maybe in our next visit I’ll have the opportunity to ask some questions.
Growing up as the oldest was a fact of life for me. We moved to a farm when I was 13. My dad worked off the farm much of the time and I was put in charge of the farm work. As the oldest, I was expected to work and supervise my younger brothers. I was responsible for results. I took my work seriously. I learned many skills and was given more opportunities because of it. If I had been a second child, I would have lost many of the experiences that make me who I am. I don’t, and can’t, know all the things that would be different.
Things are what they are. The past is the past. Wondering about changing history is a futile exercise; it’s over. What we can learn from thinking about the past is how we feel about it. Why do we feel the way we do about our history? I don’t know why my parents reacted to their past the way they did. I’m sure that I learned to react to situations from watching their responses. As an adult, I’ve learned to analyze my behavior and base my actions on my own set of inner programs. Some of my personal values and beliefs came from my family; others are very different from theirs. I try to analyze new thoughts and ideas, and challenge my own beliefs. I try to judge them on a set of values that I hold as truth. I also challenge my own “truth.”
I don’t know whether there is any absolute truth. If there is, I don’t have all the information necessary to say that I know what it is. I don’t trust anyone who says they know anything absolutely. Many people who say they know something as absolute, have it confused with faith. I set a pretty high standard for my beliefs. I don’t know all the answers. I’m just wondering.
Previously published in the Harper County Herald in my column I Wonder…, and published here with permission.
Filed under: My Status, culture, death, life, personal responsibility, self-improvement, survival