Ez Writing to the Future Ezra on Family Life after Watching "The Namesake" as Josh is About to Leave for NMH at the End of the Summer 2007

To the Hill

Ezra Leslie

July 2007

                        The credits rolled down the screen listing the customary names and positions of the hundreds, if not thousands, of people involved in making the film -- it struck Ezra that ‘credits’ were the perfect visage for an unassuming, simple observance that in reality laid the framework for a calculated, complex ceremony whose purpose was to make the viewer feel splendidly insignificant and incompetent. It was getting late and his homework wasn’t finished. As it was unfinished homework made him feel incompetent (and that was on regular days) the movie only added to his sudden guilty pang of grand incompetence. He sprang up from the old Thai triangular pillow he had been lying on, compelled by his sudden pang of guilt. His parents, his brother, and his baby sister (all of whom had been watching the movie) were still hypnotically glued to the credits -- reflecting on the movie, their musings, the day, thingsthatbabiesthinkabout, dinner (possibly), lunch (maybe), breakfast (probably not).

            The movie’s end panicked him a little; it reminded him of his unfinished work, but now that he had walked over to the computer, calculated the work that needed to be done (and the time he had to get it done), and began composing an email to his ‘future-self’ he felt much more composed. Outside he could hear the light patter of rain falling on the house; these light drizzles were the pebbles that signaled the avalanche of monsoon that engulfed the Himalayan Kingdom every summer. Things would never the same. He peered over the computer and saw that the rest of his family had finally broken free from the hypnotic effects of rolling credits; his father, Keith, his mother, Shakun, and his baby sister, Leah, were now dancing to the Indian-themed music -- he couldn’t help smiling. He glanced over to his (also smiling) brother, Joshua, they caught each others eye, and smiled uncontrollably.

            He was in control now. The work would get done. In fact, now that he thought about it, he had made the right choice to watch the movie with the family. It was what his father wanted, with his brother, Joshua, preparing to go to boarding school in a couple of months, at this point every moment spent together was treasured by his parents (still dancing). He began his email:

Hey future Ez,

just try not to think about how dad was dancing around in the TV room yesterday...haha anyways i’m tired i’ve got to do some stuff so i’m gonna bounce...but just remember you’re probably gonna have some work to do cuz i didn’t do it okay? anyways just do what i don’t...

catch you on the flipsyde...

            He smiled at the thought of his future-self and decided, as a memento to the film, to sign the email: Googol Ganguly. Then he clicked ‘Send,’ said goodnight to Mum, Dad, Josher, and Leah Loo, stumbled down to his bedroom, pulled out his unfinished work, and, with the dying image of his parents and little sister dancing to movie credits, fell fast asleep.

            The book was better, Jhumpa Lahiri’s The Namesake, but it was a wonderful movie nonetheless. The movie had struck close to home tonight, Keith Leslie thought, although his own life had been the story in reverse. He had come from the West (the Land of the Free, Big Stick Democracy, Hamburgers, Home of the Brave) to explore the east (deep seated history, spicy food, governments steeped in monarchy). However, the protagonist, Gogol Ganguly, displayed the same confused idealism and youthfulness that had propelled him to his life here on this six-thousand foot ridge overlooking the Kathmandu Valley. It had given him this life with his wonderful wife (now putting the youngest to bed), his three awe-inspiring children, an amazing home, and of course the garden; reminding him that it was the perfect time to revel in the beauty of the garden. He slipped quietly downstairs and glanced into Ezra’s room -- he had fallen asleep books and papers scattered around him, one was resting lightly on his chin. Keith gently pulled it off, laid it beside him, turned off the lights and headed for the backdoor.

            The door was already locked and in the darkness he fumbled with the latch locks. Finally, he was rewarded by the distinct “kathunk!” of freedom. He pulled on the door handle, pushed the gauze screen wide open, and took a deep breath as he escaped into the peaceful serenity and bounty of nature. The light drizzle blanketed him in a soft cooling rain when the warm glow of lights turned on revealing the exquisitely fragile and beautiful garden, a delicate expanse of green existence.

            Shekhar, the Nepali gardener/guard who had been outside, heard the screen door opening, turned on the lights, and came over, “Namaste, Sir.” It was always a pleasure to walk in the garden with Sahib, together they had helped nurture and build this garden. He had been with the Leslies for over fifteen years now -- he knew that Sahib understood the true beauty of the garden. If everything went ahead as planned though, he would be leaving the Leslies in a few months time to serve manual labor in the Middle East. Although nothing could beat the working conditions here with the Leslies, the Western salary would help earn money -- he wasn’t getting younger.

            Together in mutual silence and respect they walked along the bank of the brook that runs alongside the ten ropanis (acre)  of property that Keith had bought with Shakun twenty years ago. The house, built seven years ago, represented how far he had come since he arrived in this Himalayan Kingdom, a simple Amherst graduate from Upstate New York who left America seeking enlightenment, but never came back. Leah was born into this house, Josh and Ezra had grown from boys into men here, and even he had gone into his fifties in this house.

            Shekhar was now kneeling over the bank, the moonlight shining upon his short and thin, but strong, frame as he peered into the cool, flowing water. “Aunus, Sahib,” he said pointing into the water. Keith walked over and gazed at the ten-inch river crabs digging up the streambed. They both gazed on in wonder at the richness of life that thrived around them. After several minutes of wandering thoughts and gazing at the crabs, Keith glanced up, Shekhar had already walked on ahead. Standing underneath the willow tree that swayed slowly under the patter of rain, amidst the otherwise humid spring night, they both turned towards the wire fence (many years since covered in vines, ivies, and plants) at the sound of leaves crunching.

            A horse had wandered over to the fence from nearby grazing pastures to eat at the other side of the property fence. “We must all leave our own grazing pastures at some point,” Keith mused thinking back on his own travels away from the West, Gogol’s less physical (more emotional) departure from his past, and Joshua’s imminent geographic departure halfway across the world to a boarding school in Northfield, Massachusetts (of all places). At the thought he felt a deep remorse rise up in his throat, feeling the physical and emotional distance that would soon separate him from his son. Knowing his two sons it would probably be Ezra leaving next year. “It is funny,” he thought, “I spend the majority of my adult life worlds away from my own parents, and now I feel the pain of a parent as Josh prepares to spread his wings.” He knew it was for the best though, the type of opportunities lay in wait for his son that students at their International school in Kathmandu could only dream of.

            Shekhar and Keith now had slowly made their way along the fence (they let the horse graze) around the stream, across the pond, and into the front yard. The maple tree they had smuggled over from America ten years ago was thriving. It was a wonder to observe the often arbitrary nature of survival for the plants -- some survived, some didn’t -- this maple was already nearly ten feet tall. He stepped forward, the moonlight suddenly revealing the intricate intertwined gossamer web of a spider spun throughout the limbs of the maple. “Hopefully, the spider is more of a Charlotte than a Shelob”, he thought as he smiled to himself.

            What was this Northfield Mount Hermon? This mystical hill ten thousand miles from Kathmandu, this self-professed educational institution of “the head, the heart, and the hand.” What webs would Joshua spin for himself at Mount Hermon, where would they lead him to? These questions rolled through Keith’s mind like the credits at the end of the film making him feel strangely insignificant and incompetent. There was really no way of knowing what his experience would be like in Massachusetts, but whatever happened Keith knew that few kids had grown up in the cosmopolitan, worldly setting that Kathmandu had offered Josh and Ezra (Leah still had time).

            The rain was beginning to fall in larger and more concentrated flurries now, it would soon be time to go in. It must already be 1 am in the morning, but there was one last stop he would have to make. Shekhar had already gotten there. Just beyond the maple, across the other side of the property, lay the bamboo grove. Keith’s love for bamboo encapsulated his passion for his children -- wonder, awe, and immense pride. No stroll in the garden was complete without contemplating the beauty of at least a couple of the forty some-odd bamboo species on their property. Particularly in the spring, as it was now, they were rewarded by the multi-inch sprouting and growth of bamboo’ tusas’ (shoots) daily. Their powers of growth never ceased to amaze him. Together, Shekhar and Keith, caressingly removed the fallen leaves from the roots of the bamboo unearthing new ‘tusas’ and revealing growing ones.

            Keith sighed looking up at the house, the TV light (forgotten to be turned off) still glowing through the window, “Never again will they be the tusas they once were.”  The rain was pouring now -- it was time to go in, he turned to his companion “Namaste, Shekhar.”  “Namaste, Saab,” Shekhar called out, already disappearing off in search of shelter.

            Inside, the house was quiet -- everybody was asleep and staying put, although not for long. Quietly, Keith closed the screen door closing his garden palace behind him. He tiptoed slowly upstairs where Leah had fallen fast asleep in Shakun’s arms (or the other way around, he never could quite tell). The TV and computer were still on, gently bathing their features in the day’s activities.

            Keith silently turned off the TV and sat down at the computer, peering over the top smiling at his daughter and wife softly dozing in each other’s warm embrace; his smile grew as he saw Ezra’s habitual email to his “future-self” in the Outbox. Slipping on his glasses he prepared an email to his son:

           

        “hey, future once, now past easy ez, what's cooking?  ya missed a splendid stroll in the midnight garden w/ sheks et moi.  great visuals of ten inch crabs digging up the stream bed, a horse out the fence munching on the grass, magnificent gossamer charlotte's webs on the maple tree, the massive tusa coming up in the bamboo groves and the drizzle becoming a slight downpour telling us it was time to turn in.  i know it's no comparison to chemistry or mystic literature... but what's an olde guy to do when he doesn't have classes anymore... just go out and watch the natural world do its amazing thing...  have a lovely morning, son.  love you, you know, your once and future dad."

            Outside, the rain fell unabatedly on the ten inch crabs digging into the river bed, on the horse grazing away from its pastures, on Charlotte spinning her webs, on the ‘tusas’ growing without respite, on Shekhar dreaming in his room, on the young and the old, on the awake and the sleeping, on the staying and the going. 

Travels with Joshua in Massachusetts on these Autumn Days

after the long miracle and discomfort of air travel, i've arrived in body, if not fully in spirit, on the native shores of north america. from the sky the world looks so peaceful, calm, soothing.

of course, sitting in steerage for 20+ hours from kathmandu to boston is a slightly different and aching experience. still, the travel is remarkable, astounding even, to slip so easily from one world to another w/in 36 hours, all the way around the globe, from my home outside kathmandu to my son in western massachusetts. magellan should have had it so good...

wondrous visions, as well, of a snow covered mount ranier, lake stahekin, where we vacationed with dave & lisa a decade ago when the boys were small, then the snake river. the soothing, fresh, warm welcome at minneapolis airport before flying into boston at dark, the lights of fenway on thursday night illuminating the skies while ribbons of red and white lights circled the city on rte 95. it's amazing to see such urban density and light after the hours of darkness in the night skies. the miracle of the modern world for those of still captured by the struggling reality of our third world countries. i'm awed in an ancient sense, both fearful and trembling while inspired by the power and majesty of the world around me.

now, a few days after arriving, josh & i are relaxing at bruce's comfortable home in newton. we drove in yesterday afternoon from nmh b/c josh's football/soccer game was cancelled, alas, due to the heavy rain all night & day. really sad, however, as i was excited to see he & his team play after reading so many game reports while in nepal on the school's sports log. knowing how much josh loves the game and his profound determination, i so much wanted to see him and his team-mates on the new england pitch together. after all, his love for this game was one of the reasons he travelled so far to go to school.

still, the day+ on the campus friday w/ josh was a pure delight. i went to all three of his classes (bible, us history and physics) & had private meetings w/ the professors. all his teachers seem quite pleased w/ joshua's performance so far. in fact, most of them commented on how 'seamlessly' josh has made the great transition to nmh and the states.

a few of the professors commented that joshua's performance is really impressive for his first term at nmh, given the profound transition from his world in nepal. they were all complimentary about josh's level of participation in the classes, his academic commitment and, particuarly his religion teacher, on the originality of his thought. great!!

my smith college friend, sheila, who has been at nmh for 20+ years and is head of the music department, also showed me the latest nmh newspaper which had an article by josh about the cross-cultural differences b/n being a nepali & american. very insightful. she said the teachers were talking about the article in the teachers lounge, saying, 'did you see that article by that kid from nepal?'. to which she would say, 'that's joshua leslie -- not just a kid from nepal.'

clearly, josh has made the passage to the states with aplomb. it helps, of course, that he really likes his roomate, dean, who seems a very sweet guy (great basketball player, i'm told), good mathematician and quite grounded. his other closest friends seem quite sincere and sensitive, as well. i met mohammed from alexandria, sergio from brazil, an american/thai kid from bangkok and a few others. i wish i had more time w/ them, as they are the world in which josh has found his niche here. i'm pleased as they all seem smart, eager and thoroughly enjoyable.

overall, i felt comfortable with the nmh world immediately. it's a caring, intimate and active world. one that is commited to the head, heart and hands of the whole person -- not just intelletual or academic achievement. although, after traveling for his soccer to other new england schools, josh says that the facilities at some of the other schools are even more amazing, i find nmh the right balance b/n the world of lincoln school in kathmandu and the colleges ahead of him. in fact, i'm not sure i'd want josh or ez at the best endowed, wealthiest private school in new england. as josh says, nmh is quite an upgrade over lincoln already. best, methinks, to appreciate the value of what he's found, rather than long for something more elite, aloof or distant from the reality in which we must live.

today (sunday) we're going in to cambridge, to see our friends, jerry & monique, then we booked tixs for the musical 'wicked', the story of the wizard of oz's wicked witch before dorthy showed up. it's gotten brilliant reviews and turns the tabel on our understanding of what truly is 'wicked', and why. it's $90/seat, but these are the remarkable opportunities that the west offers to the general public of seeing outstanding stage or musical performances that whirl the mind and uplift the spirit. take a good catholic liturgy in chartres from the 17th C. and then add all of the color, mystique, romance and humanity of the modern mind -- et voila -- there's broadway, the secular ceremony of the unbridled spirit.

last night, after resting a bit at bruce's, josh & i drove out to a framington mall (got lost looking for it...) and saw two new movies, 'dan in real life' and 'kingdom'. both good, but 'dan' was exceptionally fresh, honest and loving (with steve carrell et juliet binoche) while 'kingdom' was one more tale of endless terrorism and revenge-seeking americans hunting the 'bad guys' in saudia arabia. actually we only were supposed to see one movie, but the other started soon after ours finished, and the room was right next door, so since it was already $10 for a movie, we just invited ourselves in for a double feature. ;-)

of course, once again, i'm amazed how quickly we can make this transtiion from one brave new world to another. in our minds, and in distance, it's a long way away, but once the plane disgorges you and you quickly realize you need to drive on the opposite side of the road (duh... it's the opposite side of the world, space traveller...), it's all surprisingly good.

different. eye-opening. lush w/ autumn colors. wonderfully smooth roads. tons of traffic, but moving mostly. big cars. little cars. blue cars. red cars. food stores, furniture stores and shops for everything everywhere. too much junk food. clear skies. dark clouds. stunning architecture. boring architecture. more to do than one could fill a few lifetimes. tons of entertainment. move theaters in malls the size of cities. more malls. small urban parks with 200 year old trees. tons of trees. and trees. lots and lots of people. lots of over-weight people. well-dressed people. casual and perky people. all hues and hair styles. bag people. rich people. lost people. found people. people always on the move. ambition. desire. a new world, sans doubt...

we'll go back tomorrow (monday) to nmh. my brother bruce & his wife buff are out visiting their daughter liz at her college this w/end, so we'll only see them monday morning. then, we may see the basketball hall of fame on monday en route to nmh. tuesday i'm at amherst for lunch w/ some students, then my talk on the evening on human rights (wrongs) in nepal. i've got plenty of notes by now and some interesting leads into the talk (like 'the last time i was speaking here was the w/end that the royal family of nepal were murdered...'). i'm anxious, of course, speaking publicly and at my alma mater (another form of mother-complex, i suppose...), but when i let the nervousness fade away, i'm actually looking forward to speaking on something i've lived and experience at the core of my life the past couple of decades while hearing the curiosity and intelligence of the amherst students' thoughts. something about a school or college seems to fill a open part of my soul.

i'm sure limited time left with my pilgrim son, joshua, will speed past, particularly since i say goodbye to him when he must be back in his overtrun dorm by 7 pm on m onday. for now, as i've tried to say, it's simply so nice to be nearby him again. because, if anyone asks, being a parent is probably the most profound and satisfying joy that one can find in this brief and ever-passing lifetime. someone, somehow, a long time ago, sure figured that out.

as my buddy, rasan rolan kirk, wails on one of his inspired saxophone songs, "g-d must have a master plan". clearly, our love for our children was central to it.

amen.

A Return & New Beginning in America...

we're here in philadelphia at my sister claudia's with my extended leslie clan during this july 4th week after a peaceful retreat up on a lake in the adirondacks.

i still retain a special childhood affection for that great swath of primeval upstate new york forests from my suburban dreams of a romantic, pre-american iroquois confederation ('the lust of the mohicans'...), as well as youthful days spent tracking white tail deer in the glades or gunnel-pumping on the dark, quiet lakes in that wilderness. there is a part of each of us, i assume, that carries these youthful geographic origins in our individual souls like eternal touchstones of innocence & utopia...

that last week of june in the adirondacks basically served as a pastoral respite after our ten days of intensive travel & late nights traveling from amsterdam (what leah now calls 'hamster-dam') to the bucolic idyll of lagrasse, france with uptal, caroline, matthew & his boys --including a swift, rollicking side trip to barcelona to enjoy the spirt of the final football championship of la liga -- then back by ryanair from carcassone to charleroi and the slowest midnight trains to our, of course, delayed airbound path from schipolto the states.

en route from nyc to our cabin on friends lake in the adirondacks, we stopped at northfield mount hermon (nmh) for a day to get a feel of joshua's new school and meet some of the folks who will part of his new life. of course, so close to my old digs at smith & amherst, i couldn't resist showing shakun & the kids scott & my ancient apartments at park annex and next door to helen hills hills chapel, as well as stop for lunch at famous fitzwilly's restaurant, scene of a few late night st. patrick day celebrations during our distant college years...

northfield mount hermon sits a few frisbee throws away from the vermont border overlooking that lush new england green of the connnecticut river valley. there had been two campuses, northfield for women & mount hermon for boys -- but they've united the 600 students at the mount hermon campus now leaving, alas, some absolutely exquisite 19th century buildings across the connecticut river. instead they've started to build some new structures, including a modern arts center on the more open spaces of the mount hermon campus. although, if they could pick up a couple of those magnificent polychrome stone edifices at northfield and transport them to mount hermon, the magnificent architectural lineage of the school would be enhanced for more generations to come.

fortunately, josh really liked his feel of the school, even quiet & empty as it was during the summer vacation, while the folks we met who work there were very warm, kind & open. while on campus, we had an hour w/ one of the nmh soccer coaches. the coach couldn't promise josh anything, as they have a couple of all-americans on the team & some strong players coming from outside the states, but he was sure that josh would find a spot on the j-v team, if not the varsity.

the best part was when, in the middle of the conversation about favorite positions, players & tactics, the young nmh coach looked at ezra and asked him who's better he or his brother. w/o missing a beat, ez said, 'he is.' pointing to josh w/ a sweet, brotherly, understanding smile. we felt, by the end, that the coach would have been happy to recurit ezra there on the spot, as well, but neither we (nor he...) were quite ready to sacrifce both our beloved sons to the alter of american higher education & soccer dreams, at least not yet...

yet these dreams have a habit of becoming reality. appearing first as candle-lit thoughts in the quiet of our minds late at night as mental images float in our free consciousness hovering between day & darkness. then, at some odd moment they are verbalized, often spouting like an oxymoron or non-sequitar in a day-dream or erupting at some moment of anger or frustration, like a seed finally brusquely breaking through the topsoil into the light of existence.

our lives are like that, it seems. images of our futures playing like a taste of the occult in our present realities. inspirations or ambitions lurking in the shadows of the today's seeming substantiality preparing themselves (and ourselves...) for their sudden appearance later in the performance.

we know that these children of ours will grow up and leave us. we prepare, as best we can, for such changes. but, we struggle, as well, letting go of what we so profoundly love.

after all, whose life has not been forever changed by having children? these little creatures whose arrival signifies the end of a certain aspect of our own lingering childhoods while permitting us a re-exploration of what childhood actually means, not to mention, a second chance to recreate the joys & simplicity of those fragile, fragrant years.

then, the orb moves, the years turn -- both sides now, as joni sings -- and one finds oneself one summer on a new england private school campus seeing your son's world open in ways both tremulous & tremendous.

he is beginning anew, separating and pushing out from his protective womb in kathmandu, reaching for the dreams that lie within his deep heart's core.

bless him and protect him.

Tears for Years: A Brothers' Youthful Departure

Time must have a stop, as Aldous Huxley once wrote...

There are moments that occur which will remain ever etched in our memories. Although Proust may have remembered ALL, we mere mortals must be content with those moments that define the transitions of our lives. These, as the metaphor reminds us, freeze the frame and time appears to slow down, image by image, all around us.

Such, at least, was my experience last week when I found myself in the Lincoln School auditorium for the school's farewell to its departing teachers, students, families and Joshua Shumshere Leslie, my son.

How, I wondered, did we get to this point? How could it be that Joshua at 16 was already leaving Lincoln, leaving our home, departing from my/our life in Kathmandu?

Wasn't I the dad who constantly told Shakun when the boys were toddlers that if she ever wanted to send them to boarding school (having been educated in one herself...) that I, like the obssessive mother in the endearing childrens' book, 'Runaway Bunny', would go teach at that school, too.

Yet there I was with Joshua leaning against the wall of the auditorium, a few hundred fellow students, their teachers, some of their parents, some of my closest friends, while he was openly crying as he faced the moment of his departure from Lincoln.

The school band was playing, the kids singing, the boistrous mood that Lincoln creates for such events was in full swing -- while I had my arm around my son who was unashamedly weeping, then laughing, then sobbing in front of the elementary school kids who were looking up and asking each other, "Why is Josh crying?" I could see friends and teachers around the auditorium looking towards us asking me in their own caring & concerned non-verbal way, 'is Josh ok?"

Luke Davis, one of Josh's earliest Big Brothers when he first joined LS in 3rd grade, ten years & a few lifetimes ago, son of some of our closest friends, Chris & Dale, and now a teacher himself at LS, as well as Josh & Ez's football coach & friend, came by and rubbed Josh's shoulder in affection & support. Suzi Burns, LS' own earth mother incarnate, long-term Kathmandu resident, mentor to the fringe & lonely kids at LS, as well as dispenser of kleenex on such emotional occasions, came by twice to make sure that Josh was well-stocked w/ those soft pieces of paper in which we store, then free ourselves of, some of our most private & painful emotions.

By the time Josh's name was called up, after the beautiful songs ('Stand by Me' by Europ & Ryan Shrestha), a solo by Laureen Purnell, and scenes from the middle school's 'Mid-Summer's Night's Dream', he was more composed. His 6'4" frame standing taller, his face looking past these fleeting moments ahead to the consequences of the decision that he'd made to attend Northfield Mount Hermon to redo his 11th grade, then 12th before starting college in the United States.

Much to our surpise, Josh decided in January that he wanted a new challenge, a new environment, away from the political uncertainty of Kathmandu and, possibly, to start on his journey toward his larger life beyond the world of Nepal that Shakun and I had offered him since his birth in Bangkok in October 1990. As I've said to others, I'm the American father who couldn't offer his son America. After 24 years in Nepal, it's getting harder, possibly impossible, to make that journey home myself...

Maybe in some deeper way, Josh has known that he needs/wants to grow beyond the Nepali world that we've created for him. He knows he's between cultures in a way that doesn't allow him to be wholly at home in either the Nepali or American worlds. He knows, as well, that he can communicate b/n them & empathize with them in ways that other kids who are not from such blended stock don't know.

But he also knows the alone-ness of this world. Along w/ the larger challenges & opportunities in the world outside, I think he understands that he must step toward this future on his own, that no one, not even his loving parents or affectionate brother or friends, can do this for him. His alone-ness has a birthright, like a Biblical character. Like his namesake, Joshua, or those larger than life quasi-historical Biblical figures who embody the stories by which generations of western culture have drawn inspiration and questions about the purpose and meaning of our lives...

Or, after scores of times lying with his brother, Ezra, and friends upstairs on the floor of the family room watching "Lord of the Rings", the noble quest that Frodo embodies has penetrated the deeper consciousness of Joshua. He carries a different ring -- but a ring we each carry through our lives. Each ring has its own power and risk. In his always thoughtful, deliberate way, Josh understands that he, too, must leave the Shire and find his way on his own journey, supported by those who love him, but who cannot free him of his quest.

"Joshua Leslie", his name is called by one of the teachers and slowly with steady, deliberat movement Josh leaves his niche along the wall and steps out toward the stage and his future passage. After all of the names of families that had been called, there is a strange, independent ring to the sound of only one name in the air. Again, that a-lone-ness that Josh is inhabiting on this immense journey from his home in Kathmandu to a boarding school in western Massachusetts. Yet, there is a dignity in our son, an adolescent grandeur (if I may say so...), in his walking up by himself to accept the puffy cloth heart amulet that the school has made for each of their departing friends, students & teachers. (LS, once again, at its best in its nurturing environment...)

Leah, our six year old, by this time, has come to stand with Josh & me along the wall. But when we come behind the stage to stand by Josh, he shakes his head with a pained smile, wanting -- knowing? -- that he must do this by himself. So, Ms. Leah & I stand behind the curtain, where, it appears, all parents must reside, and watch the last moments of this gracious & loving rite of high school passage.

Then Leah & I sit on a folding chair in the shadows as Leah hugs me and cries, "I don't want Joshua to go!!", wailing this time & again, until Josh comes back and with his huge frame leans over to hug us both, tears flowing freely for each of us, Leah's pained voice echoing in the darkness behind the public stage. Ms. Aruna, LS's art teacher and Shakun's cousin, comes by, looks hurt for us and gives a hug, as well, to this family tableau of separation and departure. The fabric is being pulled, wrenched, in new directions and the strength of the love is the emotion that binds as the immediate reality dissolves.

As every moment must end, we stand up as a first step on a larger voyage of individual lives. Josh goes back on to the stage to hug many high school friends who are all together understanding that this year of Lincoln is over and that the next iteration will not include everyone with whom they have shared this past year. I take Leah back to Ms. Nicole,her loving teacher and our friend, beside her kindergarten class with Maya asking, "Is Josh going forever?" while Leah's tear continue to spread, a bit more calmly, as she joins the children she knows best.

I walk to the back of the auditorium to watch the final scenes of the school year on the stage. Proud of Josh's affection for so many and theirs for Joshua. There are short queues of friends and long hugs with many. The affection is real and touching. Then, there is the boys line, after the girls. Josh's friends Narayan, Sudip, Silash & Adish, then Ezra's friends Daniel and Lyle. Then, Ezra, his 14 year old brother, friend, companion, football mate and, in the ironic way of brotherhood, spiritual guide.

The two young men hug with a hard, firm embrace, arms wrapped around each others shoulders. The 6'4" and the 6'1" teenagers holding tight to this moment, realizing that they will never share this stage of life again. That the early morning wake-ups for the 6:10 band bus will be solitary from now on. That the football practices and SAISA competititons will no longer be for both the Leslie brothers. That the excitement of the Liverpool and Man Utd games will be communicated on Face Book and through the internet, not watching on TV in the same home late at night. That the love that they have created will have to bridge much greater distances after the summer. That the stories of their lives won't be shared on the long bus rides home from school in the evenings through the strikes & bandhs & constant political uncertainties that have constituted their unique school lives in Kathmandu over the past decade.

So I watch, tears in my eyes, as well. Who are these boys? These young men? Are they really of my body & soul? Did Shakun & I really create this new life that will carry beyond us, carry us beyond, who appear to have already offered so much to so many other lives beyond ours?

They don't stop hugging. They must be holding each other for five, maybe seven, minutes. I can only observe. This is their moment. They have known this intimate world of Lincoln School for these ten years together. I am the father, a distant presence in this young school world. As Yeats said of a different place and different time, "That is no world for old men, the young in each other's arms..."

Coleen, the sylvan presence of academic promise & potential, a creature of Colorado's nature and American idealism, one of the most impressive souls during the boys' lives at Lincoln, comes up the steps, looks me keenly in the eyes and says, "I tried to come up quietly, gracefully to give you a hug." I say, "You did as well as Audrey Hepburn would. I'm just standing here watching my boys in wonder.", "I know," she says, "that's why I've come...". This wondrous human instinct for empathy, affection and understanding.

My tears are moist, the world seems beautiful, the pain so real. Josh & Ez let go of each other, slowly, carefully, looking at each other deeply. They keep their arms around each other as they walk up, almost shyly, up toward me, lead by emotional gravitational force, the still center pole of the family life they have known, until this moment, all their lives.

Josh is shy, tears reflecting the light & shadows of the room, his head tilted down. Ez, his eyes dancing, laughing and crying in equal measure. Full of love, sympathy, ache and joy. Brothers, we are, he knows. Brothers, we will always be.

The bodies disperse. The school busses begin to move. The year ends.

While the spirit of these departing souls linger in all of our minds for, no doubt, as long as we continue to remember. For love is a form of memory... And memory is a form of love...