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Stuart Revercomb

Stuart Revercomb is a marketing consultant and joyously married father of four children. He seems to remember someone once telling him he ought to be a writer. "The Unseen Here and Now" -- Thursdays.

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"Thursday's Fare"

Son George is conservative.

He is a "by the rules," "by the book" sort of guy. Several people have told me that this is always the case with the first born. Unfortunately, my oldest brother Jim shattered this theory long ago. Jim is many things, but conservative he ain't. When Jim was growing up, rules weren't just meant to be broken, they were meant to be tried and tested and then if all looked good they were pummeled, stomped on and thrown out the door.

You might say he cut a rather large swath for brother Randy, sister Anne and me.

Its kind of hard to get in trouble for coming home a little late when your parents are wondering why your oldest brother encouraged your other brother to spontaneously jump in the car and go to New Orleans.

"But he WANTED to go, Mom ..."

"You can leave the room now, Stuart."

But for George, rules are generally to be observed and obeyed. Authority is to be trusted and respected. If the "book" says it -- you best be doing it. Which is not such a bad thing.

Most of the time.

The other day while swimming George mustered up his courage and finally said somewhat hesitantly, "Dad - I'm ready to go off the diving board."

"Well fine, son," I said as though it were no big deal at all. I was hoping my passive response would add to the confidence he had finally found. In truth, I was downright excited about the prospect of George taking the leap. He had been pondering it for a couple of seasons now.

George climbed the steel ladder to the board, walked rather authoritatively to the end, backed off several steps, smiled at me and with a running start cast himself headlong into the air above the water.

It was magnificent.

He popped to the surface grinning like a little beaver, "DAD -- CAN I DO IT AGAIN!," he pleaded.

"Sure, pal, have at it," I said.

George climbed rapidly out of the pool and appeared to ALMOST break the no-running rule that is so enthusiastically enforced by the life guards. He reached the steps to the diving board and had just begun to climb when, "SCWREEEEEEEET-- ADULT SWIM!" rang out from the lifeguard sitting up high in his stand. George froze, and then looking at me backed down the steps from the board.

"It's O.K.!" I yelled from just outside the deep end, "You can go one more time."

George shook his head "no" and then pointed to the guard tower which to him must look like something from San Quentin. I can see the image morphing like one of "Ralphy's" dreams in the movie "A Christmas Story" -- the tan, gaunt figure becoming a uniformed prison guard complete with nightstick and submachine gun slung over the shoulder.

"Its OK," I reassured him. "He won't mind if you go once more."

George looked up at the stand and then back at me.

"No, Dad," he said, "We might get in trouble."

"IT'S OK," I yelled, "As long as I'm here you won't get in trouble."

George glanced once more at the guard who still hadn't noticed our plight. He looked back at me and again shook his head "no" in silence.

Part of me was thrilled he had such respect for what he knew to be a firm rule and part of me longed for him to trust me and go on and "take the risk" as he knew it.

"Go on and ask the life guard," I implored. This must have seemed like a reasonable line of action. He did so and was given approval for not only one, but two more jumps. George savored them both. It must have felt like quite the privilege: jumping from that board while all the other kids were drying off.

I suspect that as he grows George will find the middle ground and develop a healthy ability to know when to stick to the rulebook and when the situation calls for something a bit more creative. But if he has to err either way, especially in his formative years, I will gladly continue to support his present track.

But conformity to all things, in all places rarely leads to excellence. To the contrary, it seems to be a prescription for mediocrity. As a professor of mine in college once stated:

"Gentlemen, you've got to have a little 'bull' to go along with your 'cow' .... though some of you could use perhaps a little less of it." He might have been looking at me when he said that last part, but I don't think so.

But he was right. Knowledge without wisdom is folly, and wisdom without creative expression in certain situations is a misappropriation of our "knowledge" no matter how we define it.

The trick is to know when and where such expression might be required.

At the end of vacation Bible school, George brought home a piece of artwork that had four coloring book outlines of animals pasted on a sheet of construction paper. They had been learning the story of Noah's ark. True to form, George had meticulously colored all the animals the right colors, staying neatly between the lines. Beneath the pictures were seven popsicle sticks laid in perfect order that led to a paper plate ark at the bottom.

But George didn't stop there. He had taken a set of markers and added a blue ocean all crazy and wild and high around the ark, which itself had been transformed by panels of red and green and blue. In the middle of the animals between the ducks and the sheep he had pasted a Polaroid picture of himself grinning like he was about to jump off that diving board.

It was a free spirited post-expressionist number with cubist tendencies.

Move over Salvador Dali.

The kid's gonna be alright.