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Making
things happen - with integrity. A weekly CyberMemo designed to keep you on task. Monday December 17, 2001 Volume III Number 51 |
FOCUS - Christmas on Prado
If indeed America has battened down the hatches - staying home in the privacy and comfort of a cushioned living room comforted by the crackle of a cozy fire and the blinking color images of a television screen and the blaring of surround sound with powered sub-woofer keeping one’s attention focused on the tube, fearing the risks of an outside world hostile to all things serene - well, it didn’t happen last Friday night at Balboa Park.
San Diegans are right up there with Pasadenians this time of year in their Southern California chauvinism. Every Holiday Season, they revel in their liberation from the North Country. Basking in seventy two degree sunshine on a December afternoon, dressed in short sleeves, they like to turn to one another and reminisce and ask questions like, “I wonder what the weather’s like today in Fargo?”
“Gee, Aunt Suzie must be bundling up the kids back there in Rhinelander for the bitter frostbite blasting off Lake Superior about now. Don’t you love this balmy breeze?”
“If I was back there in Detroit where I grew up, I’d be firin’ up the snow blower ‘bout now. Did ya hear? Uncle Joe had a heart attack shovelin’ the stuff last week. Too bad. Did you get the lawn cut? How are those roses comin’ along?”
Californians are not particularly sensitive when they speak of the benefits of living just that much closer to the Equator. They (we) just like it here. It’s the best time of year.
If you believe the headlines, and take the national news seriously, you might think crowds are to be avoided. Stay off the freeways. Keep it close to home. But then came the annual County Christmas gathering at the historic Balboa Park in San Diego for the Year 2001. Christmas on the Prado. Officials projected that one hundred thousand San Diegans would show up. Without a doubt, they broke the record.
It was Carolyn’s birthday. So we closed up shop at lunchtime, and headed downtown to see what all the excitement was about.
America is alive and well.
* * * * * * *
We started the day at the Zoo.
“Two exhibits you must see,” said the young man who took our tickets.
“Cool,” I said.
“The Pandas and the Gorillas.” I looked at Carolyn. She shrugged. I looked back at the young San Diegan in the Zookeeper’s uniform as he handed me a map and pointed in the direction of the exhibits.
“Sounds good. Thanks.” I said.
The Panda signs were big and bold, and pointing visitors to the most popular draw. We walked by the aviaries and passed the koala bears and then down Bear Canyon Lane where the lions and polar bears and macaques (monkeys) hang out. The Panda Exhibit is new, complete with a study center and gift shop and long lines to get a look at the Chinese celebrities – Bai Yun and Shi Shi. This is a conservation effort, and the expense by all appearances must be staggering. In August of 1999, Bai Yun had a little one, Hua Mei, and the whole world watched via internet video cam. On this December Friday afternoon, the Zoo was nearly empty, so we walked back and forth freely down the zigzag maze designed to control the masses waiting their turn, passed video screens which on a busier day would provide historic background and entertaining previews of the real thing as people waited their turn. But for us, it was a quick walk to the exhibit itself where Bai Yun waited, somewhere back in the bushes. We could barely discern a black and white coat of thick fur in the shadows expanding and then contracting as the giant bear snoozed in the shade while we visitors gawked. One guy had his video camera zoomed in on the sleeping giant through the branches.
The crowd was small, but the excitement level skyrocketed as Bai Yun snorted, shook his head, rolled over onto his four paws and stood to his feet. “Look at that!” someone said, and the bear lumbered though the foliage at the back of his enclosure headed for the perimeter and everyone positioned themselves at the rail for the best view. Bai Yun, with the classic white round face and black patches over each eye, and matching rounded ears on the top of his head delivered a curious look at the crowd that gave his little audience satisfaction and Carolyn asked, “Isn’t she cute?”
“Yep,” I said. And you know… she was.
The exit took us through the gift shop where toy Panda Bears looked at you from every shelf and corner, in all sizes, and tee shirts and caps and coffee mugs and calendars all bearing the lovable image of Bai Yun or Hua Mei. Over on the wall were tiny little shirts on hangers with Panda Bear logos for infants and I suggested we purchase one in anticipation of the birth of our first grandchild now five months out and Carolyn smiled, but said she thought it was a bit pre-mature. I agreed, reluctantly. The tiny shirts came in two colors – pink and blue. We don’t know yet which of the two would be appropriate.
The
escalator took us up the steep hill to the primate exhibit. It’s like being
transported into the jungle world of gorillas… and you can identify the family
members as you watch from behind a massive plate glass window. Gorillas all.
Mom and dad. Grandpa and grandma. Restless kids. You sit on a bench or at a
rail, and they look back. The family of anthropoids seems as curious about you
as you them. They return the stare, as though they find us puzzling, too.
They scratch their heads, among other body parts, and peer - their faces like a
question mark with piercing, probing eyes. It’s an exchange, really, of silent
communication in a language without words.
We sat long enough to see them climb trees and the little ones roll playfully in the grass, somersaults and cartwheels, up on a granite boulder, and looking back for the approval of the audience.
With us behind the glass at the exhibit on that easy December afternoon was a young couple with three little children. Two of them twins. Mom and dad had all the family paraphernalia, strollers and diaper bags and blankets and camera equipment, out for an all-American family day with zip-lock bags filled with crackers and carrot sticks and other snacks, and bottles with apple juice. We’ve been through this ourselves, long ago, so we know something about what it took to get this gang of preschoolers out the door and into the van and through the parking lot and the entry gate, all for the prize of showing them first hand exotic animals that until now were only known through picture books and the National Geographic cable channel. Here a dedicated mom and dad wanted to give the offspring of their love an edge up on the competition in some future classroom with an early trip to the Zoo. We were all there to see the gorillas in something that approached their native habitat. But one of the twins was not amused.
He had enough. He wanted to go home. He was tired, and sniffling, and whining, and clinging. He held on to his mother tight, and had not one inkling of interest in the playful gorillas on the other side of the glass.
I wanted to speak to them. I didn’t. I should have.
I wanted to hug the mom and high five the dad. I wanted to tell these young parents that they were doing something good. That these lovely children were privileged indeed. That someday these three will, as sure as I am writing these words, rise up and call them blessed. That the patience they showed, and the commitment to those little rascals will pay rich rewards someday. That as we looked together through the glass at these primates, something else primal was going on in the connection between a man and a woman and their children and their hopes and dreams for them and while the youngsters may wear their patience thin and may compete heavily for their attentions and may behave in less than exemplary ways in public places that these days of childrearing may make mom and dad utterly fatigued and push them right up to the ragged edge, still it is a weariness that comes from well-doing. And I wanted to suggest that their own parents must have modeled something good twenty years ago or so. And I wondered if when they stood somewhere at an altar and promised themselves to each other for better or for worse if they knew then how demanding children can be. I wanted to tell them to stay the course. To revel in the joy of knowing that this is the stuff of real living… and the pay-off far outweighs the investment of time and exasperation and energy and money.
But I didn’t tell them any of this. Somehow, I think maybe they know.
I just looked at Carolyn. She looked back at me. We smiled. And then looked over through the glass at a family of gorillas and perhaps understood why they scratched their heads at the looking glass.
Involuntarily, I scratched mine.
* * * * * * * *
The sun sank into the Pacific Ocean right on schedule on that December Friday – somewhere around five o’clock. And the crowds poured out of the parking lots and into the Prado where a San Diego community Christmas awaited.
All the Museums of Balboa Park opened their doors wide. Admission prices were eliminated. All of the exhibits in the Natural History Museum, the Museum of Man, the Art Museum, the Photography and Model Railroad Museums, the Aviation and Automotive and Aerospace Museums; the Globe Theater Plaza and the International Cottages – opened to the public at large.
It was as though the whole county heard that Osama bin Laden was gloating over the fear that possessed America, threats of terrorism holding a nation hostage paralyzing their economy and forcing them into seclusion. And all of San Diego rallied to prove him dead wrong.
The projection of a hundred thousand had to be light. It felt like a million.
As we emerged from the Zoo, and the night
lights twinkled, Christmas music floated through the air. First from a group
of children set up along the walk-way wishing us all a Merry Christmas in song
and then from a Madrigal group in holiday harmony around the corner. Food
stands from all the local restaurants offered Christmas fare. The fountains
and reflecting pools lit and sparkling. The Prado, named after the famed Art
Museum in
Madrid,
is all Spanish in architecture, and possesses all the charm of a warm San Diego
Christmas evening.
Walking en masse, we rounded the corner for a view down the Plaza and the Spreckles Organ Pavilion, an out-door amphitheatre seating over two thousand, jammed packed, a twenty-foot tall tree under the spotlight on the stage before the giant pipes of a restored theater organ with all the stops pulled. A sing-along Santa held a microphone and led the crowd in a round of caroling and a count-down as the giant tree at the United Nations Plaza was ceremoniously lit by remote control.
I was hungry. The lines were long. Carolyn heard something about a Swedish house – she was in the mood for something ethnic. But the Swedish house was no where to be found in the throbbing throngs of Christmas crowds.
Through the horde, I spotted bratwurst and Sauerkraut under a canopy at the Czech house. I pulled out my wallet, and the lady told me there was none left. They sold out way early. The crowds were far greater than anyone anticipated. I objected… there were at least twenty still on the grill, and I saw a big tub of Sauerkraut steaming on the table and I was really hungry, I said with a smile. She acquiesced, and took my money and handed me two tickets, which I exchanged for a couple plates of food.
Carolyn said, “Oops. Did you see the line?”
“What line?” I asked. And then I turned to see that I inadvertently cut in front of, oh, about a hundred people or so waiting for a Czech brat. Apparently no one but Carolyn noticed my faux-pas. No one even looked. There I stood with the coveted bratwurst and Sauerkraut, mouth watering, and well, Carolyn and I slipped into the shadows and found a dark corner to satisfy our appetites… and there, it feels just a little better to have confessed.
As we ate, from the Spreckles Pavilion, I heard a thousand voices accompanied by a bellowing pipe organ, “…he sees you when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’re awake. He knows if you’ve been bad or good…”
“So be good for goodness sake!”
* * * * * * * *
It’s Monday morning. You are a leader.
It’s that favorite time of year when the pressure heats up and the decisions are legion and the time short. You’ve got lots on your mind. Make sure that among the many gifts you give, you give yourself. Be there. Be a present. Be present.
Your family, your staff, they all look forward to the gift of the Christmas season. On the Prado, we reveled in the community expressions of love and joy and singing and laughter, right out there in public. The threats from a band of terrorists have failed to take that away. But more than the gifts, they depend on you. Your presence. Your laughter. Your interest. Your involvement.
May your planning and your partying include those you love the most.
And may the warmth of the season make its way into your heart.
© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2001
LeaderFOCUS is brought to you by Good Stewardship Associates
Special Thanks for Design by my good friend David Belcher, owner of Rhino Media Group and creator of WisdomGram
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