Carlton Matteo’s Blog

Even for an old Republican, I am proud of my country today.  In the midst of the worst economic atmosphere since the Great Depression the American people have delivered a clear message to ourselves and the world that we are still evolving, that we are willing to do what even a few years ago would have been unthinkable.  We’ve given notice that this remains a place where amazing things still happen, and though we don’t yet know what kind of president Mr. Obama will be or how effective he will become, we are willing to bet that things will be better with him at our nation’s helm.  So many things in life are influenced not by realities but by intangible things like faith, hope and the incredible power of positive thought.  This is what the nation voted for yesterday, and this may just be enough to sustain us through the difficult times ahead.  I can’t help but believe it will be, and I am excited by the prospect of watching that unfold.  Yup… even for an old Republican, I am proud of my country today!

Carson Salvatore Matteo was born on June 17th a little before 8:30 am.  He weighed 9 lbs. 6 ounces and was almost 22 inches in length.  We weren’t at the hospital; we were looking after his big sister, Clara, but we all got to see him later in the morning, and he’s a site to behold!  It’s funny to me that the words we all us to describe him are so different from what we said about Clara when she was born.  She was “beautiful”; he’s “a little toughie”.  While she was “gorgeous”, he is “strong”.  And, of course, he’s big, so we say he’s “a brute”.  The truth is that he’s his own miracle, just like his sister was, and I thank God that we’ve been given the chance to see both of them come into the world.

I cannot tell you how wonderful it was to be allowed to take care of Clara for a few days while her momma and daddy got to know Carson at the hospital.  If you know me, then you already know I think that Clara is about as perfect a little girl as God ever made.  To hear her giggles, see her joy for life and have the chance to carry her and care for her reawakens those protective parental feelings we haven’t felt quite this way in some years.  She is a fount of constant energy, and when I hear my bones creak at the end of the day, I am reminded that being a parent of little ones is truly the province of the young.  For a day or two, it was amazing to be let back into that world, but I will confess that I am grateful to be able to return to the slower pace of my Autumn years! 

Watching the four of them, Jason, JoAnna, Clara and Carson together is awe-inspiring, and I cannot help but get a bit teary-eyed when I think of all the joy they will know together.  And we feel eternally blessed to be even a small part of their lives, filled with the knowledge that all is as it should be as the Great Circle continues its never-ending cycle.

Welcome to our families, Carson.  We are excited by your presence and honored to have you with us!

Back in my college days at MSU I was the student-leader of a volunteer group.  We worked at Grand River Elementary School on the north side of Lansing engaging students in a variety of after-school activities.  At the time we were one of the oldest volunteer groups on campus, and as luck would have it, we were chosen to be one of the sites that then-First Lady, Pat Nixon, was to tour on a visit to Michigan State and the Lansing area in the spring of 1970.  On the day of her visit it was my privilege and honor to escort her around our school showing her the kinds of programs in which we had children involved.  One must remember that this was during the days of student protests and campus riots, so security for this event was understandably high.  I was so concerned that the FBI might chastise me for even the most mundane transgression that, to the advance agents, I admitted I had once attended a Students for a Democratic Society meeting.  In those days the SDS was one of the main underground institutions active in fomenting student unrest throughout the country, and I didn’t want to bring shame on myself, MSU or my fellow volunteers.  The advance agents, two burley all-business types, must have smiled and winked at my admission because nothing came of it, and Mrs. Nixon’s visit went off without a hitch.  While I was showing her around, along with a huge number of staff and news reporters, I took the liberty of moving her behind a piano where I thought I might have a word in “semi” private with her.  I was dedicated, you see, to idea that volunteering meant nothing if one was not being a truly “relevant” force in kids’ lives (ah, the righteousness of youth!).    She was very good at extracating herself from such traps, and as she smiled at the kids, cameras and me, she deftly moved away from the piano corner and back into the mix of reporters.  I felt momentarily defeated, but my job was to stay by her side, so I stuck with her.  When it was time to leave, the school district superintendent tried to escort her into her waiting limo, but I firmly elbowed him out of the way, holding my ground until she was headed down the road.  When it was all over I was convinced that I had missed my one golden chance to “make a difference” and that I would never hear from her again.

About three weeks later, I got two things from the White House in the mail.  One was a nondescript black and white picture of me standing next to Mrs. Nixon while she was seated with some 2nd graders.  On the back was a label that read “Official White House Photo”.  I didn’t like the picture because of my prominent double-chin, and I ignored it.  A few weeks later, I got a letter from my Grandfather, and in the envelope was a page torn from the U.S. News and World Report.  He had circled a picture (a smaller version of the one I had discarded) and had written, “Is this you?” in the margin.  I called him and informed him that indeed it was!  

The other thing I received from the White House was a color photo of Mrs. Nixon affixed to a hard board backing, suitable for framing.  She had signed it, “To Carlton Matteo  With appreciation and all good wishes”, and she had autographed it.  In the intervening 38 years, I lost that picture.  I was sure it had been underwater in one of our many basement ”floods” and that I’d long since thrown it away.  I recently had the opportunity to attend my nephew’s wedding at the Nixon Library in California, and I looked for both these pictures there thinking they (or similar ones) might have been on display.  No such luck…

But luck was with me after all.  I was looking for something else recently down in a rarely visited corner of our basement, and completely by accident, I came across that picture from long ago.  At the top you can see the rusted circles where two thumb tacks used to hold it on display, and there are various stains and discolorations.  The photo, admittedly somewhat faded, is in remarkably good condition, though.  I don’t know where I’ll put it, but it is a reminder to me of those years long ago when we all wanted to save the world and do something meaningful with our lives.  As I reflect on it now, the 35 years I’ve spent in education WERE meaningful.  I didn’t save the world, but I think I made a small difference.  And that was exactly the kind of thing Mrs. Nixon’s visit was trying to showcase…    

Back in the 1980’s my parents bought a new house.  Actually, it wasn’t new, and it didn’t look new either.  There was a chicken coop in the backyard along with a jungle of indiscriminate plant life.   The separate garage was weather-worn, and though my mother’s vision for what her new place could be was quite expansive, the house showed little of the promise she saw.  Over the next few years my folks rebuilt much of the house adding a Roman-style pool and turning the garage into a separate “guest house”.  They landscaped the yard and in time made the house match what my mother saw in her mind’s eye.  As I think back on it now, I’m convinced she did it for her children.  I think she thought that with more amenities and space, we would come around more often.  At the time I was knee-deep in raising my own family 2500 miles away, and I never really thought of Mom’s efforts in that way.  We came out usually once a year, sometimes more, but that was all we could manage.  While we all came to know the house very well over the next two decades, I don’t think it ever really became the great gathering spot my mother envisioned…

My wife and I are now in the process of upgrading the house and grounds of our property in northern Michigan.  We’ve divided the basement into a living room, a kitchenette, a bathroom and two bedrooms.  Outside we’re thinking of putting in a short basketball court, and we’ll definitely put in some playground equipment.   In my mind, we’re doing this for what I call “added liveability”, but in truth I guess we are doing the same thing my mother did.  We are expanding the house so that our children will be more comfortable coming up there and letting us share, even for brief moments, their lives.  My past tells me that even with these additions, ChinWhisker may never become the “gathering spot” I envision for our family.  One never knows, though, what seeds we’ll be planting in the minds of those who come here or what memories will remain long after, even from short visits each year. 

Isn’t it odd how the past tends to repeat itself?  It may look a little different on the outside, but at heart it’s really all the same…

I’m at a strange point in my life now.  For twenty-six years we were rooted to our home in the mid-Michigan area, the place we raised our five children.  It was the center of our lives, and though it wasn’t imposing, expansive or expensive, it was where we belonged.  Now, my wife and I spend most of our time shifting between three different places.  We move irregularly between our house in Michigan, our property in northern Michigan and to a small place we have in Las Vegas.  Each site has a different feel, and each one calls to different elements within us.  What startles me, though, is how easily I call each one “home” when we’re there.  Las Vegas has the look of the desert, sun-baked even in winter.  It is surrounded by mountains and is an oasis in the midst of nothing but unending dryness.  Overcast days are a rarity there, and after more than forty years in Michigan, it’s a wonderful change.  Northern Michigan is verdant, damp and tree-filled, a deciduous jungle with an abundance of wildlife.   These places are new to us, so they hold no memories.  Their focus is on the future.  In our house back home, though, there are ghosts waiting, powerful memories I am not yet ready or willing to release.  And so for a while we’ll continue to move between our three places, waiting to see what our future holds… and trying to pay the increasing cost of the gas we need to reach each of them!