Orange Crush… and Other Moments That Change Your Life

The longer I’ve been in social work and psychotherapy, the less I hear that surprises me and the more things strike me as truly poignant.  One statement and, more often, one metaphor can say it all.

Case in point is a recent exchange I had with a patient being treated for brain cancer:

I asked him about his relationship with his son and what he thinks he passed on to him.  Immediately, he displayed a constellation of emotion on his face.  He started to smile and laugh while tearing slightly, which I took as a good memory or recognition of something special in their relationship.

He replied: “Heh… Orange Crush.”

This sounds good.  Who doesn’t like some orange soda nor has some nice memory of sharing a pop with a loved one?

He looked at me with a fixed gaze and recalled times as a boy with his father where they would go to a tavern and his father would attempt to cultivate some business with the patrons.  His father would sit him at the bar, hand him an Orange Crush and tell him to be quiet.

Crap.  This has lost all Norman Rockwell potential.  In fact, this story would suck as one of Norm’s paintings.  I mean really suck.  And then it got worse.

He added that his father did little else with him and did the same exact type of supervision with his grandson.  The patient and his son shared the same experience of Orange Crush.  On top of this, the patient himself worked ten hour days that precluded him from having much quality time with his son; the cycle repeats itself.

While having an amiable relationship with both of his adult children, he remarked that they aren’t that close, but that he has developed much more closeness with his grandchildren.  This was a later attempt to break that past parenting cycle.  Yet, throughout his life, he had remained a man devoted first to his work and second to his family.  I had heard from an outside source that he was not around much during his wife’s time in hospice before her death.  This is contrasted with his statements of his deep grief at her passing.  It doesn’t help that he was diagnosed six months later.

I consider it a constant truism that you learn from your clients /patients/ customers.  I’ve made a point to work in a variety of settings with diverse clientele, including batterers, addicts and cancer patients.  The one constant, no matter the client or the setting, has been the wisdom available when you really understand someone’s personal story.  I have learned much more in the space of these relationships than I ever have in a text book.  Experience inevitably trumps a credential.  Along that same vein, this man’s tale has much to teach us.

Narratives like this challenge you to reflect on your own story, past and present.  My father was a strict disciplinarian who worked many hours.  My own memory brings the image of him sleeping in the chair in the living room after a long day or out in the garage fixing TV’s and radios on the side.  While we have fashioned a solid relationship later in life, I can identify with this man’s sense of abandonment and neglect as a child.

This isn’t a rare story at all.  Many men, especially of an older generation saw this play out at home.  At one time, it fit the norms and there was (and is) honor in working hard for the sake of your family.  I love and appreciate this about my father, but still wish he was there more often.

The women’s movement has helped this evolution, but many of these stereotypes and rigid roles remain.  It goes without saying that the economy drives this too – both parents working out of necessity and not just choice.

There is a question that my patient’s experience raises that does still linger for many:  What is the measure of a man?  How does one measure success life?  Many women, now firm in the workplace, are questioning their roles too.  Is one’s measure an account of accomplishment, monetary value or something else?

This story of Orange Crush blossoms into a much larger picture of gender, culture and family.  It is a perfect example of one metaphor that says it all (I can’t resist pointing out the obvious allusion to “One ring to rule them all” from a master of metaphor, J. R. R. Tolkien) and opens up a host of questions.  One statement or metaphor can be true treasure.  When applied to one’s own life, it can open up doors to new worlds not previously available to you.

So, where am I meandering to?  This idea of a very powerful metaphor is crucial in any attempt to understand the interior life of another.  It reminds me to be open to the phenomenological experience and explanation of the other. 

You must work to perceive their truth, not impose your own.  Otherwise, you find your understanding, not theirs.  If you don’t pursue their meaning and their understanding, you don’t learn and you don’t grow.  This is true in many spheres of our lives and important to consider if you seek an authentic life.

Finally, I never want to give my son an Orange Crush and tell him to just sit there and be quiet, regardless of any other motive.  I hope that no one would really intend to make their child invisible.  This is an example where we can do better as parents than our parents did… when we honor the wisdom from another’s life, one metaphor can change the world.

Christopher David

July 2009