My movie of the day was Raisin in the Sun.
I watched it as I was waiting for my prosthetist to fix my leg (love the laptop w/a DVD player!!).
A powerful must-see movie. Though the acting was a bit overwrought at times–as if the actors were more familiar with stage than with cinema–the sentiment shone through.
It made me think of my own dreams, my own battles. Made me wonder which ones are worth fighting for. Which of my aspirations are worth the daily struggle?
I want to be the type of person, like Poitier’s character, who doesn’t pander to others. I want to draw on the legacy of my ancestors (even my father) to motivate me to achieve more, to more fully grasp the opportunities that are available, to open more doors for my own children.
Though I don’t share the goal of home ownership that was so important to the family in the movie, I know the need to have my own space, my own place, my own niche in this world. And the satisfaction of knowing that I have worked hard to achieve it.
Watching this movie made me think not only of my own goals, but of my father’s legacy. He was not a laborer like the father in the movie, but he was a man who achieved much through his efforts. He came from a blue-collar family, yet earned a doctorate in Chemical Engineering. He worked hard at his job to provide well for his large family. He served as a Mormon Bishop– a lay position with heavy eccelstiastical duties–for many years.
Dad’s legacy lives on in many ways. I see it most in my son when he gets quiet as he muddles through a complicated math problem, or gets twisted up in a logic conundrum. I see it in E as she loves animals and I remember Dad’s fondness for Tucker (tho, admittedly, that was a bit of a love-hate relationship). I see him in my siblings–especially Becky, who has his same pensive disposition, and in David who shares Dad’s love of chemistry.
Just the other day I was imagining Dad here with us at our kitchen table. I thought about how he might react to the kids chatting, the craziness of mealtime. In my mind’s eye he was quiet, sort of sitting back in his seat and watching us–an observer and not an actor in the scene. And he was smiling, that slight close-lipped grin that most people wouldn’t know was a smile. But I did.