Blue Highways: Merrill, Wisconsin

Unfolding the Map

We turn southeast again at Merrill.  I will once again, and for the last time perhaps, address the daughter that I will never have.  This time, I will reflect on children that are unwantedand seen as the cause of their parents' problems.  I hope that some of them make it over the rainbow.  Thank you, all visiting Littourati, for putting up with my need to get all of this off my mind.  Where's Merrill?  Let the map be your guide. 

Book Quote

"Looking for the land again, I turned east at Merrill....

"'Nana says Angus never forgave us kids for changing his life.  We kept him from becoming a famous writer.  But Nana says it's because he was too scared to really do it on his own...It's all bullshit.  The only way he's big is pushing little people around.'

"'He must have treated you fairly sometimes.'

"'Yeah?  Like he calls us 'hundred-thousand-dollar jerks' because he read that's what it costs to raise a kid.  Or he calls us 'unfeathered, two-legged arguments for abortion....'"

Blue Highways: Part 7, Chapter 12

Downtown Merrill, Wisconsin. Photo by royalbroil and hosted at Wikipedia. Click on photo to go to host site.

Merrill, Wisconsin

This post will be the last in my series of the letter to the daughter I will never have.  Go here to see Part 1 and Part 2.

Letter to
the Daughter
I Will Never Have
(Part 3)

"Thousand dollar jerks."  "Two-legged arguments for abortion."  How people who bring life in the world can so discount their own offspring, so minimize them, so utterly demean them, is infuriating to me.

What makes me angry is that there are so many children that need love and affection, and I am continually left with the question why?  Why are children born into homes that don't want them?  Why do people with attitudes like the father's above even bother to procreate?  It is not only a huge act of irresponsibility to get someone pregnant when you don't even want children, but an even bigger act of irresponsibility to demean them and abuse them once they've been brought into the world.

As a semi-practicing Catholic, the Church tells me that I should believe that abortion is evil.  This is echoed by evangelicals around the U.S.  But what kind of world is a child coming into if he or she is born into a family that doesn't want a child, and who views a child as a cause of problems?  Wouldn't it be better to simply not allow that child to be born?

On the other hand, what kind of world would it be if people can simply abort children when they want to correct their own irresponsibilities?

I try to steer away from that debate, but it seems to me that the answer to the question is to be responsible.  Don't have children if you don't want them.  Use a condom or birth control (another method my Church doesn't condone, but I really don't care).  If you are responsible, and still a pregnancy results, then all parties should consider all options instead of just taking a seemingly easy way out.

What bothers me about the rhetoric that flies around about the abortion debate is the assumptions that are made.  There are assumptions made that if children are not aborted, that the families will want them, or that there are people out there just waiting to adopt.  Maybe, but it's not guaranteed.  Again, I ask, what kind of life is a child consigned to if there are no safety nets to catch newborn babies?  There are also assumptions made that it's just easy for a woman to have sex, get pregnant, and then go and get an abortion.  I know that is not true.  A person would have to be an unfeeling, complete sociopath to not have any emotion about having that procedure.

Yet, it's easy for me to extemporize.  It's easy for me because, in a sense, I've been irresponsible.  In my case, I put off my own wants and desires for children and it has cost me ever conceiving you, or conceiving of you, getting to know you, caring for you, raising you, and loving you.  But at least I am not putting you into harm's way.  Someone else will have you, someone else will raise you, someone else will love you.  At least that is my hope.

I just hope that the persons who raise you want you.  I hope that they don't see you as an impediment to their dreams, but as a dream come true.  I hope that they don't see lost opportunities in your existence, but find the incredible opportunities that arrive and await them because you exist.  I was talking to a coworker who is raising a teenage daughter and he was remarking on the amazing amount of dystopian literature aimed at teenage girls.  It makes sense, because the world is a scary place for girls in the teen years, when they are so vulnerable and still have to be so strong.  The world is dystopian enough for teenage kids.  Why do we have to reinforce that frightening view?  We should be shattering it.

I hope that if I cannot be your father, that wherever you are out there I'll meet you.  I hope that I'll meet you in the park with your mom and dad and that I get to play with you a moment.  I hope that I meet you when, as I hope, I volunteer with an organization like Big Brothers or some other non-profit that matches needy kids with someone who will pay attention to them and provide companionship or mentorship to them. 

Perhaps I've already met you in the myriads of kids with which I've gotten on the ground or floor, suspended my worldly worries, and just gone into their world.  Maybe you've already touched my emotions or for a few moments relieved my sorrow about not having a child, a daughter, of my own.  Maybe I've still yet to meet you.

Yet I know you're out there, and if you aren't to be my child, I can still be a special person to other children.  I can still be someone to which they can become close and get support and friendship.  They just have to find me.  I have a feeling that it will happen.  And when they do, regardless of the reason, they'll know that they are special.  Maybe, in this way, I'll be able to honor you, the daughter I will never have.

Love,

Michael Hess
Your Father that Might Have Been

Musical Interlude

Life always throws one curve balls.  I've had a few hit me in the face.  When I get down and melancholy, this particular song, Over the Rainbow, has always given me a reason to keep going.  I remember it touching me when I was young and when I hear it now, I often get tears in my eyes, especially if the singer puts some real emotion into it.  Judy Garland made it her own, then Jane Monheit claimed it, and most recently Israel Kamakawiwo'ole nailed it.  I've loved them all, and I can imagine that a lot of kids in difficult situations wish they, too, could fly over the rainbow.  Pick your favorite, or listen to them all.

If you want to know more about Merrill

Merrill Chamber of Commerce
Merrill Courier (newspaper)
Wikipedia: Merrill

Next up: Green Bay, Wisconsin

Blue Highways: Minocqua, Wisconsin

Unfolding the Map

Turning south on US 51 at Minocqua with William Least Heat-Moon (LHM) and his teenage rider, we head down a celebrated road filled with gift shoppes and supper clubs.  I will reminisce about Wisconsin, it's wholesome shops and its supper clubs while we go.  Where is Minocqua?  Let the map feed your curiosity!

Book Quote

"We turned south onto U.S. 51 at Minocqua.  Motels and restaurants gimmicked up like barns and country stores the whole way; most had gift shoppes and some had caged animals for petting.  Then the supper clubs, each named after its owner."

Blue Highways: Part 7, Chapter 12

Downtown Minocqua, Wisconsin. Photo hosted at City-Data.com. Click on photo to go to host page.

Minocqua, Wisconsin

Of the things I remember about Wisconsin, one thing that I always found a little cheesy was the plethora of what LHM calls "shoppes."  Literally cheesy.  When one drives from Chicago to Milwaukee, not far over the Wisconsin state line is something called the Mars Cheese Castle.  It is a "gift shoppe" filled with Wisconsin-made cheeses, sausages, and other foodstuffs, as well as other types of knick knacks and tchotchkes.  The Mars Cheese Castle, however, is a freeway stop so it is really big.

The state, however, is full of these types of shops on a smaller scale.  Every adorable and cute downtown in small towns around the state have little gift shoppes, all catering to people's ideas of the simple rural existence of Wisconsin.  I remember a lot of crafts, crotcheted and knitted pieces for example, or locally made pottery, woodworked, picture frames, and a lot of knick knacks with people's names on them.  Most of the gifts seemed to have a useful purpose in some way or another, some utilitarian function that somehow seemed to fit the industriousness of the people of a state where letting things go to waste seems to be somehow improper.  The shops were all very homely, not in the sense of beauty but in the sense of being another thing that bolstered Wisconsin's image as a wholesome place steeped in the simplicity of rural life.

Another really interesting thing in Wisconsin that I found fascinating were the supper clubs.  LHM mentions driving by these establishments.  I have to admit I never really understood what a supper club was.  You would walk in, and they appeared to be an ordinary restaurant, though the architecture and the decor always reminded me of movie restaurants set in the late 50s or early 60s.  The food was usually good, but not exotic.  You would find typically meats (and sometimes fish), soups, potatoes and salads, with pies, cakes and ice creams for dessert.  In other words, if you were looking for haute French cuisine, you were not going to find it at a supper club. 

I was always confused a little by the idea of these places being "clubs."  Were they clubs because certain people paid memberships and therefore got better food and booze in a back room?  I never saw any evidence of that, though it was obvious that, like at any restaurant, there were repeat patrons that the staff knew by name.  But being in Wisconsin, I didn't associate the word "club" with entertainment.

Of course, I did a little bit of reading on the idea of supper clubs before I wrote this post.  Since they are ubiquitious around the upper Midwest, I was surprised to learn that the first supper club was not established anywhere near that region, but in Beverly Hills, California, though the proprietor was from Milwaukee.  The idea of the supper club is to create an atmosphere and ambience where people would want to spend an entire evening.  In that sense, the supper club differs from a restaurant.  Restaurants serve, patrons eat, patrons leave.  In a supper club, patrons go for an early evening cocktail and "shoot the breeze" with friends.  Then, dinner and dessert is served.  Finally, there is an evening entertainment and nightcaps before people head home.  In other words, if one does the supper club correctly, one would spend 5 or more hours at the place.

The ambience of the club is supposed to be that of a high-class type of place.  Patrons would want to go there because it is a step above a restaurant.  It is a place that a guy would take a girl that he wanted to impress with a nice evening out, or where a couple can celebrate a significant wedding anniversary.  It could also be a place for wedding receptions.  A supper club is a place where natives might take their out-of-town guests to impress them.  However, the cost of going is not prohibitive.  The supper club is affordable because the menu is kept simple.

Of course, living in Wisconsin for a few years, I had the opportunity to visit a supper club or two.  For many falls, I would travel with friends to the Horicon Marsh State Wildlife Area.  In the fall, the Canada geese use the refuge as a stopover on their way south to warmer climes.  Thousands of geese nest in the marsh in the evenings, and during the daytime fly out to the fields to search for food.  If you get there at the right time in the late afternoon, you can see the geese, tens of thousands of them, fly back into the marsh.  It is quite a spectacle, and I still remember one time when I saw, very distant, a "V" line of geese slowly wing across a low, huge yellow moon.

Once, on the way back, Megan and I stopped in at a supper club and had a nice dinner there with a very friendly waitress - I seem to remember she was dressed in something resembling a dirndl but I can't be sure.  One of the most famous supper clubs was The Gobbler, just off I-94 in Johnson Creek, Wisconsin.  It was a strange looking building.  Evidently, it was supposed to celebrate the turkey, and the architecture was supposed to resemble that bird in abstract.  It was a unique experience, let's say.  The place closed in 1992 and has been memorialized and missed ever since.  James Lileks, who created The Gallery of Regrettable Food, has one of the funniest and best memorials of The Gobbler, which he called the "ugliest, and somehow coolest, motel in America."

I had another experience with a supper club in northern Illinois, one that fills me with a strange sort of pride.  Taken there by a native, the menu offered something called the Pork o' Plenty plate.  I asked the waitress about it.  She advised I not get it because it would be too much food for me.  I was young and had a stomach of iron that belied my 6' 1" 150 pound frame.  I took the challenge.  I also ordered some soup and salad, despite her warnings.  I not only ate the soup, salad and the Pork O' Plenty, but I also ate my dessert and most of my companion's dessert.  When I left, I heard the waitress exclaim "we get big ol' farm boys in here but I've never seen anyone eat like that!"

I wouldn't be able to do that now.  But I would still visit a supper club, as they are unique institutions that somehow seem to fit the region of the United States where they are most common.

Musical Interlude

As we know from the quote, LHM and his teenage passenger turned onto Highway 51 in Minocqua.  This particular highway runs from near Canada straight north-south down into Mississippi, and has been celebrated in song from the likes of Mississippi bluesmen such as John Lee Hooker to 60s folk icon Bob Dylan.  I'm giving you a double shot in this post: Robert Allen Zimmerman (if you don't know him, click on his name) doing a live version of Highway 51, and Tommy McLennan, a roots Delta bluesman from way back, doing New Highway 51.

If you want to know more about Minocqua

Campanile Center for the Arts
The Lakeland Times (newspaper)
Minocqua Area Chamber of Commerce
Wikipedia: Minocqua
Wistravel.com: Minocqua

Next up: Merrill, Wisconsin

Blue Highways: Fifield, Wisconsin

Unfolding the Map

This post will be my second personal "letter to the daughter I will never have" in this series involving William Least Heat-Moon (LHM) and a teenage runaway hitchhiker traveling with him to Green Bay.  I'll touch on issues of abuse, based on the quote from Blue Highways.  The ribbons at right represent awareness of child abuse (blue) and sexual abuse (teal).  Fifield can be found by a quick trip to the map.

Book Quote

"At Fifield we went east toward Minocqua...'Can you tell me why you took off?'

"'Angus lost his ass in a taco franchise and things got really bad at home  I mean, you know.  The business got worse, and me and Kevin started catching hell worse.'

"'Who's Angus and Keven?'

"'Black Angus is my dad.  Kevin's my brother.  Anyway, like Angus was losing it.  I mean, he'd always find an excuse to beat up on us like maybe a low grade or using a buttertub lid for a Frisbee in the house, so he'd punch us because he was losing his ass...Anyway, the night his partners and him gave up the franchise, Black Angus's face started twitching like it does when he's tense.  Mom told us to look like we were studying even if we weren't.  God.  Two days later he was trying to parallel park, and Kevin didn't tell him he was getting close to a pole, and Angus dented the fender.  Right there in the shopping center, he starts yelling and slapping Kevin.  Kevin didn't say anything then, but he ran off that night.  He's in New York now, but I'm the only one that knows where.  He's into Hare Krishna."

Blue Highways: Part 7, Chapter 12

Fifield, Wisconsin. Photo by Billertl and hosted at Wikipedia. Click on photo to go to host page.

Fifield, Wisconsin

This post will be a continuance of a letter that I am composing to the daughter I wanted to have but, because of life's circumstances and my own inaction, will not.  The catalyst is LHM's rider in Part 7 of Blue Highways, a young girl named Stacie who is running away from home.  If you want to see the first part of my letter, please see my Blue Highways: West of Minong post

Letter to the Daughter
I Will Never Have
(Part 2)

You may wonder why before I made reference to things in my life that I didn't explain more clearly.  Well, it's because I had a hard childhood.  Had you existed, I would have done everything in my power to protect you from any sort of harm so that you could grow up with an unmarred, positive, strong and secure sense of self.  That sense is what I, even at my age, am still trying to develop.

There are lots of broken people in the world.  I am one of them, and it is that brokenness that has also possibly been a reason I was never able to get my act together so that you exist in my life.  The thing I've learned about brokenness is that it hardly ever just spontaneously materializes.  Of course, there are some people who have troubles that get the best of them without any prior exposure.  However, most of the people who are broken were harmed or marred by someone, who was probably harmed or marred by someone before that.  Much of the brokenness can be traced in a remarkably tight and strong chain back through generations.

My story is no different.  Born as the result of an affair, given up for adoption at birth, put into a happy home only to be taken from it when another child was born, put into another home where I was raised and where my adoptive father was an alcoholic and a pedophile.  He taught me many lessons, including that adults did bad things too.  When an adult, the person who says he's your father, tells you that you can't tell your mother what he is doing to you, you know that there is something wrong even if you are only 5 years old.  When you can't tell anyone what is happening to you, and you have a deep, dark secret that can't be shared, you reside in your own special kind of hell.

It's not worth dwelling upon except for the fact that it, and the other family dynamics that swirled like a horrible emotional maelstrom, shaped much of the rest of my life.  I became the fixer, the mediator.  I became very dependent on displays of affection directed at me.  Inside, I felt like I was the worst person in the world.  I felt undeserving of love.  Outside, I lapped up displays of affection whether they were real or not, even though inside I waited for the eventual disappointment and the loneliness.

Thankfully, I didn't get involved in bodily harmful addictions, such as drinking or drugs, to ease my pain.  I didn't become a malicious person, though I've done my share of manipulating.  I did develop a "rescuer" mentality, which meant that I tried to fix other broken people's lives.  It never worked.  Broken people cannot be fixed unless they are willing to be fixed and I was like any other of those people.  I understood what being broken was, but I was unwilling to let people rescue me just as others were unwilling to let me rescue them.

I have gotten into trouble time and time again because of this.  There are broken people who have become malicious, abusive emotional bullies who prey upon broken people who are rescuer types.  They give rescuers false affection, play to their needs, and when the rescuers are hooked into their stories or emotionally invested, the abusers begin to belittle, manipulate and play emotional games in efforts to control them.  Abuse happens to both children and adults, and it takes the same form.  It starts with candy, and ends with bile.

You'd think that adults are better able to guard themselves, but we can't, because often situations or relationships take us back to our childhood desires and fears, and we play out harmful situations over and over again.  I've been there...even recently.  The key to breaking the pattern and therefore breaking the unbroken chains that seem unbreakable is knowing oneself, knowing how one responds to those "triggers," and ultimately being kind and gentle to oneself.  That is what I'm learning to do.

I don't know whether having a child would have helped me earlier in life.  Perhaps I would have discovered what I needed earlier and gotten helpful guidance.  Maybe being childless was something that needed to happen so that I could work on mending myself.

Regardless, I know that if I'd had you, I would have protected you.  You would have never had reason to fear from me.  There would have been no emotional mind-games played upon you.  I would not have manipulated you, or gotten disappointed if you didn't meet some kind of "ideal" that I would have expected of you.  Ultimately, I would have hoped that you would have someday been proud of me and what I came through, and how well I parented you.  I would have reveled in the knowledge that you knew you could talk to me about anything - that there would have been no deep, dark secrets eating away at us and our relationship.  Above all, I would have felt accomplishment in raising a balanced and happy child into adulthood.

Musical Interlude

For a long while, I have been in love with the waifish voice and lovely simple poetry of Suzanne Vega.  I especially resonated with this song, Luka, about an abused child.

If you want to know more about Fifield

Price County: Town of Fifield
Town of Fifield
Wikipedia: Fifield

Next up: Minocqua, Wisconsin

Blue Highways: Hayward and Park Falls, Wisconsin

Unfolding the Map

Picking up a teen hitchhiker was probably not the smartest thing that William Least Heat-Moon (LHM) did, but as we're riding along with both of them it's a good time to examine factors that lead kids to run away.  As we pass through Hayward and Park Falls, I'll reflect on my own experiences running away, and the diagnosing and medicating of kids with ADHD.  Flee to the map to pinpoint our location.

Book Quote

"East of Hayward we drove into resort country where billboards and small, tacky motels lined the highway.  The pavement rose and dropped, up and down, and the van rode like a cockboat.  The girl fell asleep.  At Park Falls, I stopped for gas."

Blue Highways: Part 7, Chapter 12

Downtown Park Falls, Wisconsin. Photo by ForwardLook and posted at Panoramio. Click on photo to go to host site.

Hayward and Park Falls, Wisconsin

I'm going to quote a little bit more from this chapter of Blue Highways.

"Her name was something like Stacie McDougald, and she had run away two days earlier with another girl who returned home by bus after the first night.  Stacie then hitched a ride with a boy who brought down the back road.

"'He never said anything, but when he stopped by the lake I got scared and ran.  He looked for me in the woods and stuff, but the mosquitoes were like real terrible, so he gave up.'

"She had hidden in the trees all night, eaten a couple of Ho-Ho's, and finally put her head in the knapsack to escape the very mosquitoes that had saved her.

"....She took a vial from her jacket...Vacantly she stared at the vial, shook out a pill, and swallowed it with a swig of Pepsi.

"'What's the pill?'

"'Gotta take them.  I'm hyperactive.  They're Ludes.'

"The vial had no label.  'Prescribed?'

"'Oh, sort of.  Like they used to be.  I took Ritalin when I was little.'"

Blue Highways: Part 7, Chapter 12

I wanted to quote a little more because this girl touches a few spots in me, as you might have guessed from my last post.

One thing she brings to mind is my own futile attempts to run away.  I don't want to give the impression that I did it often, because I think I might have made the attempt two or three times when I was in my early teens.  Like Stacie McDougald, I had good reasons to run away, which will become apparent as we accompany LHM and Stacie a little farther down the road in Wisconsin.  But here's the problem - I was too scared to actually go through with it.  So, my attempts at running away took this form:

1) I make a big deal and run out of the house down to the end of the lane, and mill around waiting for someone to come after me.  When nobody comes, I get scared and walk back down to my house and sheepishly do something outside until I go back inside and act like nothing has happened.

2) I yell at my mother/father that I'm going to run away, and one of them (usually my mother) says "fine, call us when you get to where you are going."  Then I get scared and stay home and eventually go inside and act like nothing happened.

The truth is that I was too scared to do something like that.  Despite the problems at home that I'll get into in a future post, I was too comfortable at home.  I probably had as many reasons to run away as anyone, but I just couldn't do it...I couldn't take that next step.  Now, many years older and supposedly wiser, I realize that for a child to run away, they have to have really compelling and overwhelming reasons.  No child wants to run away, so there has to be something really bad going on at home for a child to choose to take to the road and forgo the comforts of home.  Especially if forgoing the comforts of home means running from a boy whose sole intent in providing a ride is so that he can rape you, and then spending the night in wood full of mosquitoes.  Usually, children run away because home is not comfortable, and has been made an unsafe place.  And that's sad because of all the places a child should feel most comfortable, most safe, most at ease, it's in his or her own home.

The second thing that strikes me about these particular passages in the book are that, like many children, Stacie McDougal is medicated.  Whether her quaaludes are prescribed or illegal is beside the point.  Children today, if they aren't drugged up on illegal drugs, are often drugged up on prescription medication.

I remember when some children were just considered to be "very active."  Activities were planned for them.  Sometime, when I wasn't paying attention, the terms "hyperactive," and then "attention deficit hyperactivity disorder," or "ADHD," came into vogue.  Now it seems that every child who is active enough that parents or teachers find it difficult to keep up with him or her is given that diagnosis and put on pills like Ritalin, Dexedrine and Adderall.  Should those diagnoses have been common when I was young, I too might have been put on drugs as I was known to be "forgetful in daily activities," be "easily distracted," and lose "toys, pencils...etc."  I too blurted out "answers before questions have been completed" and had "difficulty awaiting [my] turn."  I also "[fidgeted] with hands or feet or [squirmed] in seat." (All quotations from the definition of ADHD by the National Institutes of Health's US National Library of Medicine).  I thought that was all part of being a kid, but have discovered that it is seen to be a disorder.

I realize that there are some children that are truly disordered, and that such kids can be very difficult.  But when did the line blur between being an active child and being disordered?  When did daydreaming become a symptom of a mental problem?  In my case, my symptoms were the result of something far more insidious going on in my family.  I often wonder, as we medicate our children, how many signs are being misread?  How many children are in crisis either from neglect or abuse, but we drug those signs away?

I surmise that in the future, rather than seeing the increase in diagnoses of ADHD as an illness or disorder that had not been recognized, instead it will be seen as a symptom of our society as it is today.  I think that in a time where traditional families, with one parent at home, are fast disappearing as both parents go to work, the need to keep kids focused on homework and activities becomes more and more necessary.  No longer can children waste time in unorganized play, daydreaming, and just being kids.  Instead they have to be attentive all the time, whether it's in their organized activities or their schoolwork.  I grew up in one of those traditional families where, when I came home from school, I had time to unwind in play before dinner and before I did my homework.  I don't see that happening much any more.  So, if a kid doesn't show that initial capacity for that kind of focus, they are diagnosed and medicated.

I may be totally off-base.  After all, one can take issue with the fact that I've never had children, despite my desire to do so.  That's a fair criticism of my views, and I won't hold it against anyone who brings up such a criticism.  I only have opinions and ideas based on my conceptions of being a parent.  I've never been down in the trenches dealing with an unruly child, or trying to hold it together while the kids fight, or just tried to keep up with the ordinary demands of parenting.

But I read about this girl that LHM describes, this Stacie McDougal who ran away from home, and who as we'll see has very legitimate reasons for doing so.  And I read about a girl who has been convinced that she needs drugs to deal with certain problems and therefore is taking quaaludes that she is convinced help her.  However, there are legitimate concerns about the overdiagnosis of ADHD, such as parents who don't want to deal with unruly children.  All this is happening right about the time that ADD and ADHD became the vogue diagnosis.  Now not only children but adults are diagnosed with this disorder, fueling what some call an "ADHD-industrial complex" consisting of American psychiatrists, US pharmaceutical companies, and makers of herbal supplements.  It has also led to ADHD prescription drug abuse among teenagers to get high and undiagnosed college students using "study drugs" to focus and get better grades. 

I wonder if as a society we are missing the mark, somehow.

Musical Interlude

I was quite touched, unexpectedly, by Ludacris' song Runaway Love (with Mary J. Blige).  I say unexpectedly because I didn't know that Ludacris rapped about specific social issues.  But then I didn't know much about Ludacris.  His foundation apparently supports efforts to find and help runaways.  It's a very powerful song.

If you want to know more about Hayward or Park Falls

Hayward Chamber of Commerce
Hayward Lakes Convention and Visitors Bureau
Park Falls Chamber of Commerce
Price County Daily (Park Falls newspaper)
Sawyer County Record (Hayward Newspaper)
Wikipedia: Hayward
Wikipedia: Park Falls

Next up: Fifield, Wisconsin

Blue Highways: West of Minong, Wisconsin

Unfolding the Map

I really don't have much in the way of introduction for this post.  I'm just going to let it, and the subsequent two or three posts, speak for themselves.  The only thing I will say is that this blog has been about my inner thoughts about the books I'm mapping, so I can warn you that the next few posts will be very personal and difficult for me, and are a result of William Least Heat-Moon's chapter where he picks up a runaway girl and gives her a ride to Green Bay despite his misgivings.  The map will show you the area that I believe approximately shows where LHM picked her up.

Book Quote

"'Hey! Sir!  Going toward Green Bay?'...

"'Do you live in Green Bay?' She shook her head. 'Look, I'm not picking up some teenage roadie unless I know what you're doing.' I kept checking the rearview mirror.  'Where do you live?'

"'Eau Claire.'  She was trying not to cry.

"'What are you doing up here?'

"'Come on, man!'  I put the truck in gear.  Her face red with rage, she screamed, 'I split!'

"'What's in Green Bay?'

"She took a few steps up the road.  'Christ!  I don't need a ride this bad!'

"'And I don't need your trouble.'  I put the van in gear again.

"Through gritted teeth she said, 'My grandmother's in Green Bay!'

I checked the rearview mirror again.  The truth was I thought she might be the bait on some scam.  'Hey!' she said.  'I'm the one's supposed to be scared.'"

Blue Highways: Part 7, Chapter 12

Old saloon in Minong, Wisconsin. Photo by Tom at Tom's Travel Blog. Click on photo to go to host page.

West of Minong, Wisconsin

A Letter
To
The Daughter
I Will Never
Have
(Part 1)

Dear ____,

I don't know what to call you.  The only reason I call you ____ is because I'm not really sure what I would have named you or if you would have come to me with a name.

I'm writing this letter to you because this next set of stops in Blue Highways, where LHM rides with a young runaway girl hitching to Green Bay, seems to invite me to do something that I have been meaning to do for a long time.  I need to come to some kind understanding that I will never know you.  I need to grieve that you will never exist in my life.

You see, I'm 48 years old now.  My wife and I put off having children until we began to consider becoming parents in our late 30s.  Little did we know that was too late.  Her body had developed conditions that meant that there was little chance of fertilization, and little chance of implantation even if fertilization occurred.  That was terribly emotionally difficult for her - for both of us.  I was supportive, assuring her that she had no blame, no reason for feeling guilty whatsoever.

We decided that we might try for adoption.  After all, I was adopted.  I am not particularly attached to my genetic material, and besides, I have always felt that loving and caring for a child transcends genes.  But, despite initial explorations, we couldn't get it together.  Then, personal difficulties and professional opportunities delayed us even more.

It is said that if you wait until you are ready to have children, you will never have them.  That perfectly describes us.  As I have gotten older, I think too much about things.  I hope that you will understand that it's not selfishness that drives me to give up my dream of you.

I want you to know that I always assumed I'd be a father.  I have always dreamed of raising a daughter.  I don't know why a daughter in particular.  Maybe it's the romantic notion of the bond that fathers and daughters develop, so different than the mother/daughter bond but just as special in its own way.  I pictured myself helping you grow, teaching you, being proud of who you would turn out to be and all the the things that you would have accomplished.  I saw myself not only playing with you and later, helping you learn how to throw a softball and how to bat, going to your dance or music recitals, and also being present at your birthday parties or taking you to your friends' parties.  I imagined that your mom and I would share being with you in your myriad of activities, and the best times would be when all of us were together.

I could see you being strong and independent, because after all you would have your mother and me as role models.  I also pictured in you an intelligence and a curiosity about what the world has to offer.  You would have a renaissance of interests, encouraged by me.  I would have only tried to give you a good basis for making the right decisions, but I wouldn't have tried to force you into being a younger, female version of me.  Instead I would have encouraged you to explore and experiment and find your way in the world and hopefully, you would teach me as you made your discoveries. 

I imagined you growing up.  I saw myself accompanying you to a father-daughter high school dance.  I pictured you bringing home boys.  I would play the protective father and you would protest that you could take care of yourself and I would trust you to be careful.  I saw myself proudly giving you away at your wedding.  You would look beautiful in your dress and in your happiness.  Your mom would dry her tears and I would choke back a lump in my throat.  I imagined you tired but happy after delivering your own children, and myself as the silver-haired grandfather connecting with granddaughters and grandsons just as we bonded.

But that won't come to pass.  You will be forever an illusory desire because I realize, at my age and after waiting so long, that it just .might be too difficult now.  You see, when people are young, they have kids without thinking about the consequences.  They just do it and work out the details later.  When you get older, you begin to wonder whether you can step up.  Latent fears, including that of being an older parent, step in.  You wonder if you be able to change your lifestyle to accommodate a child's needs.  You wonder if you have the right stuff.

If there is indecision, then I don't think it's right to try.  You can't just give child-raising a trial and after a month say "this isn't for me."  But it's hard for me to think about, because I really, really wanted you.  And I know, in my heart, that I would have been a great father to you, whoever you might have been.

I think about the runaway that LHM finds in the middle of the woods in Wisconsin, and I know that would not have happened to you.  You would have had no reason to run away, no reason to be scared and lonely and on your own.  Our house would have been the place that you and your friends would have wanted to be.  You would have been happy, and you would have been loved.  I would have used everything that I learned from my life, which, as you will see in subsequent posts has taught me a lot, to not only teach you but protect you.

I know that I have a naive view of parenting.  I know that there would be troubles, growing pains, arguments and fights, drama, heartbreak and other difficulties.  But we would have worked through them, and even if you were angry and upset with me you would have known that you were supported and loved.

But right now, I just want to say I'm sorry, and that on days when I'm not denying to myself what my choices have meant for my chance at fatherhood, I miss you terribly and I grieve your loss.

Musical Interlude

When I first heard this spoken-word song, If I Had a Daughter, after we purchased Terri Hendrix album The Spiritual Kind, it brought a tear to my eye.  Ms. Hendrix encapsulated many inner feelings I have.  This video was made by someone Ms. Hendrix knows and was approved by her.

If you want to know more about Minong

Minong, Wisconsin
Town of Minong
Village of Minong
Washburn County: Minong
Wikipedia: Minong

Next up: Hayward and Park Falls, Wisconsin