Canary in a Coal Mine: Lessons from Lake Pleasant
It was such a long, difficult year, I felt like I was 36 forever.
I'm alone with my dad on his boat, stuffed inside my life jacket in the sweltering heat on Father's Day. His boat is actually a little daysailer he just bought to remind himself of his younger years sailing a real sailboat. I'm angry with my dad and only here on his stupid boat because it's Father's Day, and he wanted so badly to show off his new toy and have someone go with him. My mother refused, so here I am.
2009 has been a horrible year. The economy crashed, and I'm upside down on my house by at least $250K. I can't make my payments because sales have slowed. Every time I see my dad, he tells me in one way or another that if I had married an engineer, I wouldn't be broke.
He doesn't see how John and I are trying to weather this storm and hustle nearly every week with art shows, sales events, and recently getting into more than 14 galleries. He doesn't care that one of my closest friends' husbands is an engineer who lost his high-paying job six months ago, and his family is about to go onto food stamps.
I feel so fake trying my best to be nice and pleasant with my dad while he gleefully plays with his boat and all the gear. He even bought all the getup of gloves, special shoes, and a sailing hat.
It's always on his terms. He can say whatever he feels like, no matter how hurtful, and in just moments, pretend it never happened while expecting me to be jubilant and honored to be a guest on his little boat to tool around the lake in the middle of a desert. He doesn't even notice that I'm only humoring him or that beneath the veneer of my fake pleasant smile, I'm seething with anger and hurt.
Why can't he see that art is my destiny? Haven't I proven myself? Doesn't he see that this momentary slump is not my fault and everyone is suffering right now?
But he CAN'T see. There's too much self-hatred, insecurity, and pain in his own life to see the pain in another.
Coal Mine Collapse
He instructs me on "coming about" and how I have to switch sides to balance the boat as the sail flips to the other side. We zip across the water of what is ironically called Lake Pleasant, zigging and zagging, awkwardly switching sides as he turns the boat.
I can tell my dad is in his element and imagines himself as a supreme sailor preparing for the World Cup, yelling, "Coming about!" every time he turns the boat like I can't figure out that I need to move three feet to the other side every time he starts to turn.
"Hey, Dad, are you worried about those black storm clouds heading toward us?" I'm hoping he says we need to turn back, and it will be an early day.
"No. They will miss us. The wind is heading north, so we will be fine." So, we continue to sail farther away from the safety of the boat dock. My hopes shatter as my dad's smug overconfidence triggers my memory of a recent conversation:
"You know, Elli, you artists are nothing but a canary in the coal mine for the rest of us," he says with a creepy smirk.
"Huh? What is THAT supposed to mean?" I ask.
"When a coal mine collapses, and they want to see if it is safe for the miners to return, they send in a canary. If it flies back to them, they know they are safe, but if it doesn't return, then they know it died, and the mine isn't safe yet." I’m bewildered but also disgusted because I can tell my dad is somehow insulting me.
He sighs as if I'm too stupid to understand his metaphor. "Elli, the economy collapsed like the coal mine. We will know how bad it is when you artists don't survive." Then, he finishes off his explanation with his crooked smile that says, "and this is why you should have married an engineer."
But I'm not a canary in a coal mine. I'm a prophet charged with shifting culture.
We artists are leading the world into a new day filled with peace, prosperity, and liberty. We are creating a world on our canvas that is impervious to collapse. My dad doesn't realize his role as an engineer is the result of the artists who have gone before him.
I believe this, but why do his words still sting? Why do I watch him in disgust as he jumps around his boat, wishing I was somewhere else?
No More Smooth Sailing
It feels like we are sailing directly into the storm. Now, there is lightning, and thunder is ripping through the desert, threatening us with wind and rain.
"Dad, please, I don't like this. It's time to go back."
"Ok, yes, let's turn around. But it will be fine because the wind will be at our back, and we will fly back to the dock."
This worries me. My dad is rusty and hasn't sailed since several years and 30 pounds ago.
The moment we turn, the little boat takes off like a jet and begins lifting. I manage to get to the other side, but my dad doesn't.
"Dad! You better come on this side! We're lifting!"
But he isn't fast enough, and we nearly flip in a gust of wind. I cling to the side of the boat handles, literally sitting on the side of the boat, staring at my dad, who is pinned back. He is also hanging on to the handles with white knuckles, getting submerged underwater as we bounce through Lake Pleasant.
I can't believe what I'm seeing. I scream, "DAD! DAD!"
He looks utterly helpless and powerless. He gets moments of air while choking as he comes up out of the water for a second and then goes back under. I think about trying to reach and pull him, but I'm balancing on the side of the boat. We are moments from tipping completely over, and he would be wedged under the boat with all his ropes.
Finally, he lets go of the rope that held the sail, and we come crashing down. We both collapse inside the tiny boat as the sail and ropes flap in the wind. My dad wipes the water from his face and tries to catch his breath as he slowly gets back up on the bench.
Then, for the first time in my life, I look at my big, macho dad—a man whose main goal in life has been to be seen as the strongest, smartest, most successful, most important—and see only a small, scared boy.
He's silent. Something is going on under the surface. He looks stunned, like he's lost himself and found himself all at once.
And then he looks at me—really looks at me, for a long time—and softly speaks words I've rarely ever heard:
"I'm sorry."
Drenched in Defeat
The rain pours down on us as we spin slowly in circles in the middle of the lake. We don't speak. I've never seen my macho dad this weak.
I watch my dad meekly pull down the sail as his wet legs shake. I can tell he feels humiliated, and it's difficult for him. He can't yell and rage his way out of this one, considering what just happened. He's boxed himself inside a private room of forced humility. In defeat, he pulls the cord to start the motor and sits quietly, looking into the distance as he safely brings us back to the dock.
We work in silence as we roll up ropes in the rain and get the boat ready to be transported back home. The car ride is quiet. It's not yet time to laugh about what just happened. My dad is still mourning his loss and humiliation.
I can't chase the images of my dad helplessly submerged underwater without the strength to get himself up. The scary ogre who yells and says things that break me in two has drowned in the depths of Lake Pleasant. My dad came out of the water soft, broken, remorseful.
I can see that he was a fool, arrogant and overconfident, and didn't know what he was doing. He didn't understand the basics of sailing on the lake. His hubris made him blind to the orange buoys with warning flags telling even a novice boatsman not to go in. He never noticed we were the only boat out there under the dark clouds. He disregarded his foundational role as a father this Father's Day, neglecting to protect me.
Breaking Out of the Boat
My dad is flawed, and although I'm only 36, I finally realize I may know better than him at times. Certainly, when it comes to my destiny, who I married, and what I am doing with my life, my wisdom far surpasses his.
I can now see that I have a vision for what he can't see. I possess faith in myself and John, and I believe in who we are as parents to our children far beyond what he is capable of. He is, in fact, clueless. He can't read the signs and flags in my life or know when there are storms to endure or clear skies to soar to new heights. He is utterly blind to my destiny.
He only knows what exists inside his small boat of working a 9-to-5 in a "safe and secure" job so he can buy a little toy to bring out on the weekends. He doesn't know what it's like to live with a calling, to endure the obstacles or the fearful gusts of wind that cause us to cling to God who called us.
That Father's Day, I grew up. I was no longer the little girl needing her daddy's approval. I saw that he is himself lost and in need of guidance. I am now an adult woman. I know my destiny, and his insults no longer sting. I am the canary who came out of the coal mine of my father's words, clean and free.
Each one of us has a nemesis in our life. This person may even love us and want what is best for us, but their words and advice work against our destiny.
I am grateful for my dad. He has both been at my side and, at times, straight against me as I run. But every difficulty I faced in our relationship made me stronger and more grounded in God, who leads me to my destiny and gives me grace to forgive.
What storms have you navigated in your personal or professional life that have reshaped who you are today?
Oh my goodness I love your story and it is so eye opening. I realize that one of the reasons I have not fulfilled my dream is because my father’s American Dream was really not so successful- it didn’t end up better than where he was from (Island of Cephalonia and on the flip my Grandfather left America in 1921 and went back to Greece retired early and was known as the Americans!). I realized that in order to protect my dad’s memory I have not allowed myself to become successful and pursue happiness b/c I did not want to overshadow him- at any rate him coming to America with not too much money. I guess I have to bury that stupidity and move on and become a great artist and craftsperson. I am so fortunate to have met your website and your vision and become part of your virtual atelier hopefully soon one of your pupils on one of your Greek Painting journeys.
——-
Elli Milan Art replied:
Hi Olga. I’m Greek too! My dad left greece when was 18 and threw the black stone. You should read my ok “unemployable” I think you would see alot of our Greek culture in there. One of my goals is to buy a property in greece to have for artists all over the world.
This was a wonderful story.
I grew up with a father whose mother was a girl of high places abandoning him to Boys Towne and then he lived in my great grandfathers government mansion and was a Page in DC. Dad enlisted in the Navy and became a comic doing USO shows and was on all the high flying talk shows. Johnny clCarson, Merv Griffin and Steve Allen so so was wined and dined as a teenager by men and boys who just wanted a show business trophy which made my dad happy because women should marry rich and just have babies….,
I got my artistic abilities and boho attitude from him. Mom was a nurse and became his bookkeeper always loyal and they divorced and he married a mentally ill show business hooker who ran his business into the ground. He was a very gifted milktoast.
I remember all the days he was home and not on the road. He was a Navy gunsmith so we built guns at home for one of the local police departments, we built a grass boat. We had a 35 ft Chris-Craft and an inphibious plane from Italy that flew. Backwards on the water…… yes, I sat on a boat dock in fox Laje Illinois in a white bikini holding his plane on a rope as the police hauled him off to jail for landing on Fox Lake.
I married a wonderful man who was dirt poor whose parents divorced as well. We moved to N Carolina so he could set up men’s tuxedo stores up andddiwn the coast. I was a model when I met him, but there was no work for me in NC in 1978 so I worked in a department store as a makeup artist.
We eventually moved back to my home Dallas, Tx. I continued makeup artistry here and we opened two restaurants that hit the front pages of the Dallas Morning News Entertainment section. Then it happened.
Michael went behind the restaurant to look at my mom’s car and picked up his tool box wrong and fell to the cement. A half hour later we found him and we called for medical help. Michael had two failed back surgeries and a diagnosis of degenerative spine disease. Unable to carry two restaurants during a time of lack of workers…. I had to sell. I went to work at a huge department at tire and again a makeup artist and promotional counter manager.
Now all of these years I did charcoal sketching and gave away all of my work. I had been sketching since I was 10 years old. Drawing since I could hold a crayon… my brother was a famous commercial artist in the pharma industry only because my dad would help pay for BOYS education.
I was in theatrical school, music school, a local band but I loved to sketch. I was also very sickly as a child due to having full blown JRA at birth and should have died. In 1952 medical didn’t recognize JRA because they believed back then children can’t have RAcso I lived a constant life of B12 shots and underweight syndromes until 35 yrs old.
The world really sucked 2008 & 2009. My retail world of makeup artistry and no shoppers eventually lead me to medical school. I was an A student in medical computer sciences and went easily into the industry only getting hit again with our current political offliction. During all of this mess we had a daughter who loves animals and we owned two horses and competed hunter jumper with Jessica winning the first place N Texas rider in 1999.
Well, here I am now… supporting my husband and myself, no job and reviving from surgery and Covid. Yes, I’ve been painting and getting shot down but I’ ve been there before and it isn’t a totally scary place. It’s a place of deliverance to finally get to do what I’ve always wanted to do. My daughter and husband cheer me on because they have seen me bounce up before.
I can’t say how greatful I am for Milan support!!!!!
———
Elli Milan Art replied:
Wow! You have had a colorful life full of ups and downs! I’m glad you can finally focus on what you are passionate about and have no doubt if you persevere and keep showing your work you will succeed.
I resonate with a negative parent that thinks I don’t amount to much.
I love love love the two painting in this article especially of the girl with canaries painting a lion.
I’m a bit if a prophety person and I do think that the arts prophesy to the world. I would like to step into that. I’ve kind of lost my mojo a bit with so much opposition. My husband wants me to get a 9-5 office job. I want to follow my dreams. Blessings to you and your family. We love your art videos even down here in lil ole New Zealand. Blessings!!
———
Elli Milan Art replied:
Debbie! Follow your dreams and set your heart on God. He will not disappoint. It’s your calling and destiny!!
I’m so touch with your story deep into my hearth. Is difficult to release these emotional scars, and talk about it,… what a brave soul! I totally understand the dynamics and believe system , coming from a traditional family and culture myself. I’m a mature women now and my last parent passed away last year. My family had pre conceptions of being an artist means I would “starve and live under the bridge”,…so I abandoned my dreams of study to become an artist one day. Went to college and manage to sneak art electives into my natural science curriculum . During this time I secretly applied to a scholarship to study art in Paris and got it. I have high hopes that if I proved I was good enough for that my family would take it seriously. I turned down because my family would not gave me the permission , I was 17, and a good daughter. … so once again I buried away. I had been a health professional for long time. I can do my job well but my passion still in art. I love my parents deeply, but the same month my mother passed away, I signed into the Milan Institute to follow my dreams. I still not getting any cheers from my family, but at this point of my life I’m in the quest to do what brings me joy. All I know is this feels right. As you honor yourself, resentments , guilt and what it “would or could be “, no longer an obstacle . I’m living in the present . This is exactly where I need to be,…and I’m so gracefully for this opportunity and experience. Than you Elli for sharing your story , and to be such a mentor to all of us…❤️.
———
Elli Milan Art replied:
Diana! That’s amazing!! I’m so thrilled you are pursuing your dreams now and doing what you love most! It so very difficult to live against there grain. Proud of you!!!
Yes, this all sounds very familiar. I also had an engineer dad with a small sailboat. He wasn’t a manly man, more mild mannered Mr Milk toast. My bully was my mother the nurse and he was her lapdog. My parents did not raise us well and they did not handle conflicts well. They always took us to church every Sunday and Wednesday night, but at home, they were always complaining about us kids and saying hurtful things and critical remarks. My dad’s hobby was ham radio and try as he might, he could not interest me or my three sisters into taking up the hobby. He really was a nerd and didn’t relate well to girls. His devotion was towards my mom, the ogre of my life, Nurse Ratchet. Despite the emotional abuse, I became strong, maybe stuffed up a lot of feelings and became a bit numb and cool emotionally. I guess no family is really perfect. Even my current husband did not treat our girls well when they were little. He is sweet to me but an ogre when he’s upset with them. He has many deep rooted issues. My girls are young adults and we stick together. I always tell them that one day they can move away and not have to see or speak to dad much. I usually intervene when things get heated between him and my 17 yr old. She fights back and doesn’t tolerate his bullying. She’s had to go through a lot but this year she accepted Christ as her Savior and was baptized and is healing from her trauma. She was adopted by us as a toddler and had mental problems from being taken from her parents at birth and put in foster care. She is my niece. She is also gifted as an artist as well as my 20 yr old autistic daughter, who is disabled but is still gifted in what she does with animation, computer games, graphics and has her own thing going with VR. Somehow the things that try to tear us down are what builds us up and makes us stronger.
———
Elli Milan Art replied:
Wow. It’s just so sad how terrible some parents can be at times. I’m sure I’ve made my own mistakes as well. Perhaps with each generation we slowly make improvements.
Leave a comment