Double Dare Journey
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Transcript of Double Dare Journey
March 30, 1998
English 2I l, Citical Analysis
Double Dare Journey
We journey through time like a vapor. How long our memories linger or vanish depends
on whom we are traveling with, and what kind of baggage they are bringing with them. Alice
Elliot Dark's story, *In the Gloaming," is about a family's journey with a terminal illness. Each
member of the fanily carries a different kind of baggage, firll of their own memories and points
of view of life together. The journey requires risks as the sonos illness progresses tlgough the
seasons- I found that I empathized with Janet when she lamented to her daughter that she wished
she'd done a better job (mothering) and pleaded, "Could you possibly accept my apologr?'(Ihe
Gloaming)- Parents will always wonder if they could have done better by their children. But can
you do better than the best you can do?
on my wall hangs a bright marigold yellow piece of paper with this anonymous sentence
written upon it: 'oAs a person, I must try to be the best I can be everyday, but above all, I must
dare to fail.' It draws my attention like a caution sign aloag life's journey, reminding me there
are worse things I could do than try, and worse things I could do than fail. Journeys require time
and commifrnent- We can choose to do nothing, make no changes, and stay just where we are in
life. But if we commit to putting one foot in ftont of the other, we may change our point of view
and see life from another angle. Laird's father and sister chose to stay at a standstill in their
relationship with Laird, stopping right at the edge, with Laird and his illness. Maybe the edge
looked too close. Maybe they felt uosure, a little afraid Laird might pull them over the edge with
him. It wasi a risk they weren't ready to take. Janet, Laird's motler, notices things about her son
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that others miss. She notices that he became like his old self " He became sweeter, the way he'd
been as a child, before he began to cloak himself with layers of irony and clever remarks . . . Not
only did he want to talk again; he wanted to talk to heru (481, 482). Janet and Laird's steps lead
into a dance of life" If we try we may fail, if we try we may succeed.
Alice Elliot Dark relates the inevitable thought every parent has at some time, when she
illustrates the scene with Janet and her son sharing a late afternoon in the living room. Laird
attempts to straighten his shawl but his hands are shaking. He points to the fireplace and quickly
his mother lays a fire and wonders.what is wrong.
. . . but €ven as she grasped for information, facts, her instincts kept intemrpting her with
a deeper more dreadful thought that vibrated through her, rattling her and making her
gasp as she often did when remembering her mistakes, things she wished she hadn't said
or done, wished she had the chance to do over (492).
This inevitable parental thought is different for Janet. Her son like the fire, is dying. But the
glowing embers come to life as Janet catches sight of the delicious banquet of time sheos been
served. A meal of opportunities. Is it a chance to do it over? She savors the thought like an extra
serving as she realizes that:
She had as much of him nolv ns she had had when he was an infant; more. in a way,
because she had the memory of the intervening yearsi as wello to round out her thoughts
about him . . . She felt as close to him as she ever had. It was still him in there. inside the
failing shell (482).
Janet is shocked when she allows herself to risk even thinking the word [dyrngl. *She wished she
hadn't even thougtrt it. She tried tc stick to good thoughts in his presence- When she couldn'g
and he had a bad night afterward, she blamed herself'(485). Janet wanted to be the perfect
mother.
It was a straight forward, simple life she'd chosen. She had never tried to ask for too
much, and to be of use. Simplicity had been her hedge against bad luck. It had worked
for so long . . . [SJhe could pretend her luck was still holding . . . Perhaps she had asked
for too much, after all (491).
Even though my rational mind tells me there is no perfect upbringing, that life is a matter of
choices, trial, and error, I believe each parent strives for a messiah-like-child--one who is kind
and loving, forgiving, unselfish, and who eats peas and brussel sprouts without complaint. We
nurture our yotmg and pray that we are doing our best. Hopefully our best begets independence,
and each baby step takes our children further out into the world. We pray our children won't
grow up to hate us. We pray that our children will grow up and outlive us- If we are successful
we will work ourselves out of ajob.
Janet finds that she lives for the twilight moment when Laird's eyes would take on a
luminescent quahty, a signal that he was stirring into consciousness. "Then her real day would
begin" (485). He reminisces with memories of the gloaming: that illuminated time "When all the
world is purple" (492). Janet listens to her son's memoqy as he expresses sorrow at never
taveling to Scotland. His memory is like looking in a mirror, a backwards view of time. She'd
offered to take Laird to Scotland but he'd had other interests: "he was . .. . already sure of his
destinalion" (483). Daring, ri.ky, independent baby steps pick up speed as they carry each child
down the road to adulthood. Then the test comes. Do they need us for anything? Hopefully they
don't need us, but rather want us for a friend. Laird longed to know his mother as a friend.
o'You'fe where I come from" I need to know about lou, *'Laird tells Janet. Quietb she tells him
o' . . . thete's nothing to know. . . The only extraordinary thing about me is my children" (484).
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But Laird realizes there are worse things he could do than try to know his mother.
"Her son wanted to talk" (4Sl) arrd Janet was astonished at his openness; she struggled to
keep up with him. The few beautifirl moments at the end of the day when the purple light made
the whole world look like the Scottish Highlands on a surnmer night" (483) become like a safe
harbor where mother and son spend the best time of the day. The air crackles with their efforts
o' . . . to know and be known." It is there in the soft purple light of the gloaming that Laird and
his mother share memories and misbegotten dreams. The future is only spoken of briefly, for the
future will be but a brief moment--almost too brief to mention.
As any mother woul4 Janet lies awake at night trying to imagine some way she can be a
better mother. Only the passage of time allows us to grow better, and so the mother gives time to
her son and grows better as they learn about each other. "Laird was a captive audience." Janet
noted,oo...parentsandchildrenwereallcaptiveaudiencestoeachother,'oandthat*... itwas
amazinghow little comprehension there was of one another's storieso' (483).
In *The Gloaming," mother and son grasp for the remnants of memories known and
unknown to them. They savor the scent of friendship like spring flowers after a long winter.
These tender insights are pressed into the pages of time like dried flowers in a memory book.
Also within that memory book are prickly-stemmed weeds. Dry and stiff, they emboss the pages
like skeletons in the closet, memories that want to be forgotten, but are part of the bare-bones
structure of their very being. Those skeletons perhaps support and contrast the soft gloaming
memories we cherish, as we breathe in each new day and dare to do the best we can.
Joumeys, like relationships, require time. Sometimes our journeys are quick, sometimes
they seem to take an eternity. We put ourselves at risk. Each step we take along the joumey is
different. lVe can take safe familiar steps and stay where we are, or risk the unknown and go
)
somewhere we never dared to go before. We could make a mistake, be rejected. We could get
hurt. We could be embraced, we could be happy. We could grow. Laird's sister and father chose
to take safe famitiar steps; but after l"aird was gone, and his body had been taken away . . . the
last moment of the gloaming, the last moment of the day [Janet's] son died" (493,494), you can
hear the bagpipes play as Laird's father feels the absence of his son and the absence of
. In the gloaming he speaks to Janet: "Please tell me-what else did my by like?"
(494).I can imagine Janet thinking thouglrts similar to this poem I wrote for my son as she
realizes that o' , . . all the frustratiohs and boredom and mistakes and rushes of feeling in her days
as a mother did indeed add up to something of importance" (494).It causes me to reflect that as a
mother, I must try to be the best I can be everyday, but above all I must dare to fail. For when I
dare to fail I also dare to succeed.
The boy in my womb came swimming out one fine day in May;
only to fall asleep in my anns.
Now many years later he sleeps miles away, eats meals I don't prepare,
and gatlrers his life around him;
making his own nest and dreaming his own dreams
that change wilhthe tides.
He wanders alone yet within me, no longer in my womb,
but permanently etched in mY heart,
my son, my friend.
Itro{*$ Cied
Dffik" AIiEe Eiliqt. '*kr ?he Glmming.'koxed Short Story from English 211,
In*Fuctor, Don Cecil.
IS The $Ipqmi4g. 1IBO Vid€o, New York, 1997. Pir€ctsd by Christopher R*ves.
Starriag Glsu Close, Bridget Fmdq lFhoopi Coldbsrg" Rskrt Sean Leonard
and kvid $mitlrairn.