All Collywobbles

Parenthood is prayer, parenthood is humor.

Do you know Bayes’ Theorem? It’s a litmus test for whatever we believe.

According to mathematician Thomas Bayes, being rational is not about true or false. Bayes’ Theorem is about forming opinions based on the best available evidence.

He insisted our beliefs are only as good as the evidence they are based upon. And those beliefs improve over time, as more valid evidence pours in.

Sound reasonable? Sound obvious? Then how do you explain Clippers fans? Or, how do you fold faith and compassion into how you feel about certain issues?

How do you explain impossible dreams: colonizing Mars, curing cancer, writing the Great American Novel?

How do you explain Walt Disney, for instance? Or Mother Teresa? Or even, pardon the politics, Elon Musk?

This junction of faith and logic is where value systems get interesting. That crossroads, my dear, is the gumbo of life…of politics…of art…of humanity itself.

So, next time you hold the door for someone and they don’t say “thanks,” congratulate yourself.

With no assurance that the other person will appreciate your gesture, you do it anyway.

That, too, is the essence of a gumbo life: Being kind without any assurance of reciprocation.

Call it “Erskine’s Theorem.” To this day, not one of my kids has ever said thanks.

Oh, just kidding. Easy joke.

Yet, parenthood is prayer, parenthood is humor.

Watching the lovely and patient older daughter scurry after her two wildcat babies might be the definition of faith itself. It is the cabaret music of the human spirit.

Of course, young children have their moments. Their hearts unsullied, disappointment not even entering their minds, small kids will gift you a wild dandelion out of sheer kindness.

Do they get anything in return? Maybe a smile and a hug. Or, what they really crave, a moment of your time.

Or, maybe you’re texting at the time and can’t be bothered. Will they bring you another dandelion anyway?

Yes, over and over and over again, into sunshine piles.

See, young children have a culture all their own, untainted yet by rules and ruffians. It’s a culture of feety pajamas and bedtime stories, of innocence and sweetness.

That’s why moms get all collywobbles when they send their kids off to kindergarten, knowing the child’s wide-eyed innocence, her inherent sweetness, will soon be tested.

Into the jungle they’ll go. Have fun, baby! Be sure to write.

Will the kid be better off than before — tougher, smarter, more socialized?

Absolutely.

Will she be, in some ways, worse — less open, less kind, increasingly leery of what the goofy kid next to them might do?

Probably.

We blast through those collywobbles anyway, because gumbo is gumbo, spice is spice, life is not knowing any outcomes and marching boldly ahead.

Damn amazing, right?

In the course of a lifetime, we see fire, we see rain.

As I reminded Miss Suzie the other day, there are the scenarios we can plan for. But there is always that added scenario that no one could ever imagine.

Life is so short, really. As my reader/friend Judy noted, we never really know when we’ll do something for the very last time: The last time we’ll hug our mom; the last beer with an old buddy; the last meal in a favorite pizza place before it suddenly closes.

Life is a lot of “lasts.” Be sure to live a little.

My son Smartacus is finishing up college soon. It was a place, like kindergarten, where group-think thrived and individuality was mostly crushed.

Smartacus loved college anyway, the whole colossal muck of it. Starting a few months ago, he started counting his lasts.” Last football game. Last midterm. Last meeting with his adviser.

I’m not sure what the real world has in store for this kid, who still seems a kid. He’ll soon be home, cutting onions in our kitchen like his late mother did: chop-chop-chop…pause for tears…chop-chop-chop-chop-chop.

Fortunately, Smartacus knows the value of Bayles’ Theorem, of solid data on which to base his values and beliefs.

My son also knows the value of compassion, faith and kindness.

As a family, we always tried to push that.

Which may explain all the collywobbles.

Coming Saturday: Just in time for St. Paddy’s Day, a “Leprechaun Code of Conduct.”

Hi and welcome to Substack. Hoping your experience has been as seamless as possible. The quick outpouring of paid subscriptions feels like a minor miracle. I’m very grateful. I value your friendship and support. If you haven’t subscribed yet, be sure to sign up as these will be behind the paywall in a month.

As always, you’ll get e-mails with each new post. If you have problems or complaints, please email me at Letters@ChrisErskineLA.com. Here’s to all the smiles ahead. FYI, I could not have done this without the help of the lovely and patient older daughter, who guided me through the tricky tech. Hugs to her and all my kids and friends for being such good sports through the years. Hugs to all of you, my friends and readers.

Hiking note: Spots remain for the March 21 Happy Hour Hiking Club event in Old Pasadena. We’ll step off about 3, hit a venerable old watering hole about 4. Interested? Please RSVP by emailing Letters@ChrisErskineLA.com. This is the last one before we put it behind the paywall benefits for founding members (first) and paid members.