Rabbit

Dad has given me many great gifts, a kind of natural instinct for how political stories will play, being unafraid in the face of power, my first bike that I named after the football player Jim Brown because it was both fast and tough, but one of my all time favorites is my friendship with Rabbit Angstrom. 

Rabbit missed making it into the triumvirate of great characters in American fiction (Queeg-Queeg, Holden Caulfield, Huck Finn), but his less than superstar status is part of his charm.  We never lived in a dying small town, but I feel like I know what it would be like to live in a dying small town because I know Rabbit.

I've often thought about what it means to be the son of mom from the leafy, railroad suburbs of Philadelphia and dad from the long muddy hills of rural, Western Pennsylvania.  Somewhere between those points in Pennsylvania is where Rabbit lived.  It is tempting to think about Rabbit's travails as a cautionary tale.

Rabbit scared me, but ultimately made me feel a little bit better about not exactly being the most successful guy in high school.  He also made it easier to be in places where I felt uncomfortable.  I knew I didn't want to end up in one of those places, but I also didn't want to feel so alienated from them that I couldn't relate.  

One of the best ways to conquer our fears is to know them better.  Therapy helps, take my word for it.  Rabbit died some years ago of heart attack he never had.  I kind of wish that he had been able to slip his collar at some point and been able to see beyond his limited stake, but none of us really get to do that. 

All this is roundabout way of saying thanks Dad!  Thanks for introducing me to one of our country's best and most consistent voices of reason.  The world is really a little shabbier now that Updike isn't around to help us understand its shabby beauty.