Tag: hidden depths

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Below the Surface

J.R.R. Tolkien died 50 years ago today. It doesn’t seem to have slowed him down much.

Among fantasy fans, there’s a joke that you could rediscover Tolkien’s old laundry list and send it to the top of the bestseller charts. Look him up on Amazon (I’ll wait) and you’ll see the avalanche of material that appeared after 1973. Epics. Poems. Letters. Volume upon volume of backstory, fictional history and alternative drafts.

It’s awe-inspiring. Even a little intimidating. Many of us have hidden depths. The Professor had entire underground cities.

But then, he always did. And that should be encouraging to most of us.

I suspect a lot of us have stories we’ve never told, gifts we’ve never explored, ideas we haven’t shared. And the longer they stay hidden, the easier it is to get self-conscious about them. “It’s too different.” “No one wants to hear this.” “Eh, I’ve waited too long.”

And so the guitar gathers dust. The paints dry out. The words stay off the page. And the underground cavern stays sealed.

Maybe it’s time to do a little excavation.

Waited too long? Tolkien was 45 when he published “The Hobbit” and 62 when “The Lord of the Rings” came out.

Too different? The Professor not only re-introduced epic fantasy to the world but subverted it as well. He took the classic heroic archetype – the lost heir to the throne, raised in secret by elves, sent out with the sword of his fathers to save his people – and made him a supporting character. The real heroes were the people looking to throw away power, and “happily ever after” still ended with a changed and diminished world and a protagonist who’d been forever scarred by his experiences.

No one wants to hear this? For a long time, Tolkien considered Middle-Earth his private hobby, and an unusual one for an Oxford professor at that. He almost didn’t publish “The Hobbit” at all; once it was out the door, he had doubts about whether it would be reprinted. These days … well, remember that Amazon avalanche?

Knock a hole in the right cavern and you just might find hidden treasure.

But here’s the thing. It’s not about whether the gift you have shakes the world. It’s about whether you let it out at all.

Because even if it never changes the world, it will change you. And that matters.

Give yourself permission to try. To be curious. To explore. Whether you’re fascinated by tinkering, or languages, or strange-looking rocks on the side of a hiking trail, it’s a fire that’s worth lighting.

In a society that’s often driven to pursue success, it’s ok to do things for the pleasure of doing them. If other things grow from that, wonderful. But whether they do or not, you’re growing from it. And if it’s building your joy … well, maybe that’s touching the world after all.

I wish you luck in exploring the hidden depths. Meanwhile, I’ve got some spelunking to do of my own. In the words of a certain Professor:

“Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate,
And though we pass them by today,
Tomorrow we may come this way ….”

If I find any Elvish laundry lists, I’ll be sure to let you know.

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This Looks Like a Job For …

Heather came home tired. No, exhausted. No … obliterated, as only a woman who has just spent five hours with two tiny nieces can be.

“You know,” my wife said as she collapsed onto our bed, “it’s not easy being Hoofoo.”

At that moment, I had to agree.

OK, I can hear the question: what’s a Hoofoo? It’s not a city in China. It’s not a secret owl-based style of martial arts. (“I now initiate you into the mysteries of Hoo-fu.”) It’s not even the sound someone makes after a long day moving furniture or chasing children, though that comes closer than some.

Instead, Hoofoo is to Heather what Spider-Man is to Peter Parker – an alternate identity with a curious origin.

It started with one of our nieces. Heather had practically been her second mom since the moment of delivery, and the newcomer spent a lot of time in our house. Even so, none of us were prepared for her first word to be “Heather.”

That was the last time it would come out that clearly for a long time. “Th” is tricky for a very young mouth to say and eventually our niece declared her aunt to be “Hoofoo.” And so she stayed. We wondered if the name would go away when the school years started, but by then, our niece not only had the habit, she had a younger sister who also picked up the call.

Hoofoo, it seems, is here to stay.

By now, it’s more than a nickname. Heather has always been the “cool aunt,” the one who can talk to children on their level without patronizing, come into their games and suggest new ones, and otherwise be the relative whom the kids love to see and whom the parents love to have babysitting. And when she’s around Riley and undergoes the Hoofoo Transformation (batteries not included), she seems to have boundless energy and interest, able to keep up with the wildest absurdities.

It can’t last, of course … but most of the time, it lasts just long enough. Only when the kids are safely out the door does Hoofoo surrender her powers and become simply Heather of the bad back, the Crohn’s disease, and the multiple sclerosis that is demanding rest NOW.

It’s a high cost that requires a lot of recuperation. But Heather knows how much the girls love to see her and how disappointing it is when she’s unable to share time with them. And so, she disappoints them as little as possible.

On some level, Hoofoo makes that possible.

Some of you may be nodding now. I think many of us have a face that we put on when we need it, to keep fears and worry away so that the job can be done.

Sometimes it’s relatively small, like the steps that allowed me as a young and shy kid to also be an actor that could trade pratfalls and cue lines with ease – a transformation as thorough as Billy Batson’s into Captain Marvel, and about as mysterious.

Sometimes it’s much bigger – like the face that let my mom keep life normal for three young kids while she endured treatment for breast cancer (an invader that’s long gone now, thank goodness), offering so much reassurance that we had no idea there was anything to be reassured about.

The phone booth moment doesn’t always work; even Superman can’t be everywhere. But it often works for long enough to meet the situation, because in the eyes of someone, we are a superhero. We’re their superhero.

And we’ll do everything we can to keep from letting them down.

No radioactive spider or magic thunderbolt could ever match up to the kind of power that that can create.

Truly, Hoofoo is in the eye of the beholder.

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Hobbit Forming

Harry Potter, of course, was the defending champion. Han Solo nearly beat all the odds. But in the end, the winner of Missy’s annual Halloween costume sweepstakes was a Shire thing.

Yes, after two years of trick-or-treating as the world’s favorite boy wizard, our disabled ward has decided it’s time to pick up a bag and put on the Baggins. She’ll be going door-to-door as a hobbit, a choice that required some careful questioning since Missy is a lady of strong opinions but few words.

Mind you, there will be some key differences, and not just the usual concessions to the Colorado weather. (I know those well, having had to throw a coat on over a perfectly good Hercules costume when I was in sixth grade.) This, after all, will be a Missy-style hobbit, which among other things will mean:

  • That wearing anything that looks like hairy feet is out of the question. There will be shoes and they will have bling, with sparkly shoelaces that can be seen from Omaha.
  • That like Frodo by the end of The Lord of the Rings, Missy will not be wearing a sword. Not because of any virtuous commitment to refuse all weaponry, but because belts are hated with a passion usually reserved for Orcs.
  • That the One Ring will be offered up to everybody so they can see how shiny it is, only to be snatched back in a “gotcha” move when they get too close. Eventually, the fated Ring of Power will likely find its way to the bottom of Missy’s voluminous purse, where even the most determined of Nazgul would eventually surrender the search amidst a mountain of stuffed animals, toy cars, used tissues and wadded-up church bulletins.

But these are mere details, easily overlooked in the quest for One Trick-or-Treat Bag to Rule Them All. Like Harry, this is a character from one of Missy’s favorite stories of all time. So giggles are coming, and smiles, and at least three attempts to hit the Halloween trail before it’s even noon.

And really, it’s understandable. Few characters could fit Missy better.

Like any respectable hobbit, she’s a homebody who likes a comfortable routine with tea, food, and pocket-handkerchiefs close at hand.

Like any less-respectable member of the Took family, she’s curious about newcomers and the outside world, sometimes pulling hard at my wrist or Heather’s so she can look at something more closely or call out a “Hey, you!” to a passerby.

She’s a hardworking Sam who likes to help with the washing-up (even if we do have to watch for dirty dishes that quietly slip back into the cupboard) and an impulsive Pippin who just has to find out what happens if you touch this or pick up that.

But most importantly, like any hobbit, there’s much more to Missy than meets the eye.

In Tolkien’s stories, the diminutive hobbits are a quiet people with hidden reserves of courage, luck, and determination. Missy, too, is quiet – but heaven help the person who thinks she doesn’t understand what’s going on around her. She remembers faces from elementary school days, follows bedtime stories closely, has a better sense of direction than I do (especially when it comes to the bowling alley and the bookstore), and definitely knows when she’s being talked down to.

Disabled does not mean unaware.

Thinking back, maybe that’s part of why Tolkien’s stories still hold such an appeal. They celebrate those who are quiet and ordinary, while promising that there’s so much more  to see behind the scenes. They suggest that in the right circumstances, any one of us might have surprises to reveal and be able to hold their head up with heroes. That simple does not mean stupid or powerless.

How do you beat a storyline like that?

Well, besides adding brilliant purple shoelaces, of course.