One of my favorite Groucho Marx scenes was from the movie, Animal Crackers (1930). Groucho is introduced as “Captain Spaulding, the African explorer” singing “Hello, I Must Be Going” written by Bert Kalmar and Harry Ruby: https://youtu.be/hmuiyUtVQ1M
[Groucho Marx]
Hello, I must be going
I cannot stay, I came to say, "I must be going"
I'm glad I came but just the same I must be going, la-la!
[Margaret Dumont]
For my sake you must stay
If you should go away
You'll spoil this party I am throwing!
[Groucho Marx]
I'll stay a week or two
I'll stay the summer through
But I am telling you:
I must be going
[Party guests]
Before you go
Won't you oblige us
And tell us all your deeds so glowing?
[Groucho]
I'll do anything you say!
In fact, I'll even stay!
[Party Guests]
Good!
[Groucho Marx]
But I must be going!
As we said our goodbyes in Zimbabwe, there was an outpouring of appreciation as if we were the famed “African explorers.” There was a last minute expression of the desire for us to stay. We were part of a community in Zimbabwe that was sad to see us leaving. We loved our role in this community and had hoped to continue on, but the curtain had closed on this act of our lives. So, we could only say. “We must be going.”
Ever since my parents divorced, I had felt that I was neither fully my mother’s or my father’s son. Their split had shattered my nascent childhood sense of identity. Who was I? I was a child feeling the strain of my mother’s secular Jewish identity and my father’s traditional Jewish identity. Neither of them were committed to their identities. My mother considered herself Jewish secular/agnostic, and my father, although brought up as an Orthodox Jew, was not engaged with the traditional Jewish life he claimed. But what was I?
My mother remarried when I was in 4th grade. I was transplanted from my home, friends and school in the middle of the school year, across town, to live with a man and his three children whom I met for the first time at the wedding ceremony. My new “brother” (an athlete and straight-A student) was 4 years older than me. I now had two sisters, one a year older than me and the other 3 years younger. This new family seemed even less interested in their Jewish identity than my secular/agnostic mother! My childhood sense of identity felt broken. I was the Wasserman boy living with the Loeb family. My tiny community of neighborhood friends, Cub Scouts and school mates were a 20-minute car ride away and the car wasn’t heading in that direction! I felt disconnected from my sense of self and my sense of community. Even my mother was now “Mrs. Loeb.” My maternal grandmother, Lee Levy, had lived with us in our old house. Now, even she was across town in an apartment. I didn’t feel like I belonged in this new family and so several times a week I would run away. Actually, I only grabbed a bunch of cookies and hung out at a nearby stream. I would head home before anyone even noticed I was gone and thought to look for me! No one seemed to hear me saying, “Hello, I must be going!” [See chapter 17 - ♪♪ On Wisconsin, On Wisconsin ♪♪]
In my mid-teens my mother would send me to meet with a psychologist to determine if I was showing symptoms of my father’s bipolar condition. I was shown a bunch of Rorschach inkblot cards and asked to describe what I saw. All of them looked like squished butterflies. I didn’t see anything in them other than blotches of ink. Apparently this “passed” the test! I wasn’t bipolar! Neither the psychologist nor my mother seemed to consider the impact that the divorce had on my sense of identity. I wasn’t my father, neither was I my mother.
I began this story with my search for meaning and purpose in life as a 17 year old freshman at University of Wisconsin. And, if there was a meaning/purpose for life, that meant there must be a meaning/purpose maker. My first question had been whether there was a meaning/purpose maker/giver, what we generally call God. I knew I existed, but did God exist? And if God existed, how could I connect with Him?
So, here I was again nearly three decades later at 38 and all I could say was “Hello, I must be going!” But, this time I had a greater sense of identity and had developed a connection to what I understood to be the ultimate meaning/purpose maker/giver—God. Pegi and I had come from different worlds to create this new life together. We were only beginning what would be a lifelong journey. We had a lot to experience and even more to learn, but we were confident that we were on a trajectory that would lead us closer and closer to Him. No matter our failings (bunches!), we were walking a path with meaning and purpose. Is there anything that I would do differently? Oh yeah! We had both stepped in some stuff that it would take decades to scrape off. However, it wasn’t important where we had been or how we had gotten to this point. What mattered was where we were heading.
In spite of all the obstacles we had faced in wanderings that had brought us to this time and place, we had accomplished something of value in Zimbabwe. We had much to be thankful for in our ten years of marriage, but our time in Africa was over. So, confident in our identity and envisioning more of God in our future, Pegi, Abi and I said farewell to our friends. I wondered what we would discover as we continued our journey.
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END OF VOLUME ONE
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