Opa Weekly... Or Not

Well- I'm procrastinating on going downstairs to clean up the dog's lovely gift of pee on the floor, so I guess I should at least procrastinate by doing something else I've been meaning to do...

As of now, I won't be able to update the Opa weekly any more. I know, I know- I just started it- and you got a true teaser- but I jumped the gun and did not do the most important thing first: ask permission. These letters are very personal in nature- and while I believe that is what makes them special, unique, and compelling- it is also what makes them not mine to broadcast. Right now, out of respect for the wishes of my family, I will not post anymore letters. The conversation will begin and who knows what will come of it.

I think this is a common struggle... how open should we be? How vulnerable should we be? Whose right is it to showcase personal letters like these? These are questions of humanity, ethics, respect, boundaries. I am obviously a very open person- and strive to be more and more vulnerable... but I am doing it in as safe a way I know- through the thin veil of a blog and through an online community. I don't have to watch your eyes when you read my struggles, I don't have to endure the awkward shoulder squeezes. I get to put it out there and be done. Those of you who care to comment, I get to read them and process them on my own time and publish them or not. It's a controlled vulnerability.

These letters, they are the personal letters of my Grandfather to my Grandmother- and only recently did we find them. Would my Grandfather sanction their public use? I don't know. Just because my Grandparents are deceased does not mean I get free reign with their thoughts and personal items.

However, and here is the part I was thinking about before without giving too much thought to the other side.... Where do boundaries get us in the business of transforming the world? The letter I was set to post before I had the conversation of pause- was a letter from my Grandfather to my Grandmother that was just slap-happy, giddy in love and eager to find a way to win her parents' over. To me- this is Hope. Here was my Grandfather, a German refugee with no communication from his mother or extended family. He *knew* that some if not many of his family members would likely die in the war. He heard daily news of bombings and military advances. He barely made it to the United States, dodging service to the Nazi army. And here he was, giddy in love with a Kansas farm girl. Happy. Hopeful. Connecting to a new life and reaching forward to a new era- living the future of a German man peacefully living in the United States without prejudice. He wasn't quite past the stares, but he was hopeful. This is transformative. This is perspective. This is REAL life. Not a reality tv show, not a glossy interview or an edited history book. These are real letters from a real German to a real midwesterner, with real love in the middle of a real war. With real problems and ups and downs. The very vulnerability of it is what saves it from the rest of the junk we read. I feel nearly selfish for keeping it to myself and not sharing it. Of course I want to share it- I am amazed by it!

But it is a real life, a real love, a real story. And not everyone can or will respect it- so the reality is that out of respect for the personal privacy of our families, we safeguard some of our secrets...we hold close those intimate moments so that they are not by sharing turned into something grossly massive and inanimate...becoming the opposite of intimate- ruining the beauty that was there. Is it possible to share some intimate thing and have it be widely received as intimate? The only comparison that gives me hope is that the stars are a beautiful and wondrous and amazing thing to behold- and the sheer, astronomical volume of them does nothing to diminish the value... each star somehow still feels special. Each star makes me feel tiny, yet precious.

I really do struggle with this. Sometimes I wonder if I'm a fool for putting such honest and vulnerable things out there for public consumption. Our society would say yes. Because even the "reality shows" aren't real- and the real story is that America likes to see simulated reality so that they can feel better about themselves in a way of mockery. It's the ultimate bully- we don't even have to pick on a kid to feel better about ourselves- tv does it for us. But then what about the documentaries, the biographies... there is something different about those- isn't there?

I have had the privilege of living safely with my vulnerability- no one has attacked me yet. No one has called me a fool. No one has told me that I am indeed wrong or an anomaly. I have received only grace, love, and acceptance. After yesterday's post, I received at least 5 emails and letters of essentially "Oh my gosh, yes, me too...thank you." This moves me forward in my experiment in vulnerability. But I know- I just know- that the moment someone hurts me, the moment I feel the true vulnerability of what I write- that moment I will question it all- despite the dozens of encouraging and hopeful responses and "me too's" I've gotten.

Is it fair for me to experiment with someone else's vulnerability? Even if they are no longer alive? I think that is a hard question to answer. I want to ignore it- because in my hope, I see so much potential for transformation- but what price will we have to pay? And again- it isn't really my place to bargain the benefit, is it?

This has been a bit jumbled... but I guess so are my thoughts. Graham is up from his nap, so I shall end here. But for now- in respect to my Grandparents and family- I will pause posting the letters. The stories will likely still come through, and maybe one day we might agree as a family to take the risk.... or maybe we will agree that this is too private, too personal...