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#147 Navy #3247 (Military Govt) FPO San Francisco Friday 23 February 6:45 pm My dearest darling, Today I received another copy of Life (Jan 20), another package of children's books in several mailing envelopes, a long envelope and your letter containing the six latest snapshots of Wendy. Sweetie, they are superb; except for the photographs, the best yet in a long line of excellent pictures. It's that perhaps because Wendy already seems more of a little girl, a person, than just an attractive baby? Whatever's the answer, they bring her very much to life for me and matching the pictures with your reports. I find it easy (without trying consciously to construct the scene) to see her as a moving personality. Darling, I am very proud not only of what we have produced but of all that you are doing with her. You may notice that I don't say “for her”. Apart from the fact that it would be a somewhat patronizing attitude for me to assume toward you and for me to postulate both of us as assuming toward Wendy, I don't think of parenthood in terms of a sort of charity, nor even [pg 2] (consciously) of obligation. I'm aware that even for us it won't all be pure untrammeled* joy (HA-HA, as practically every other enlisted man write three or four times in the course of so many of the letters I've censored), but apart from the overflowing love and eager interest you feel toward the child of your own creating, there are certain analogies between the responsibilities of intelligent parenthood and those of anyone who is doing a real job of anything (and that implies honesty, self-discipline and almost certainly humor - for perspective) I mean that any self-respecting man has a certain amount of platonic love for the thing he's doing, a love of the thing for its own sake; and its impossible to draw the line between the human vanity that inevitably enters into the deal, and that same selfless projection. I've come more and more to appreciate intelligent vanity for what it can do in serving ends that are not vain - the highest of which are perhaps the (incidental, in practical everyday terms) development of the personality in question. I grow more and more aware not only of the practical value of a certain toughness, but of its integral part in anything *spelling? - where's that dictionary…? [pg 3] worthwhile. And so it always encourages me to feel myself getting tougher in the way that I mean (I did not say “hard”, nor does hardness enter into it), and no less so does it make me feel good to be aware from time to time that you too are toughening in the same way. Hardness to brittleness, and it is not integral. It is [extrinsic?] and it exists in people because of lack of imagination and intelligence, or because in imaginative and intelligent people circumstances have made its protective function inevitable. (Protective in the negative sense of throwing away the cargo to save the ship.) Not so long ago, darling, you had some of that hardness - just a little, in fact, but enough so that it might have meant a great difference in your life if some little rebuff had chanced to reinforce it opportunely - and now it's almost all gone. Remember some things I've written on this subject at one time or another in weeks past? Because it and its protective function are missing now, and because you are also living under a strain that would formerly have required double the amount of it you did have, you hurt. Of course you [pg 4] do, darling! Life for a married woman in your present position is hard enough for anyone; it's doubly hard for someone who grew up just a little frightened inside. I don't want you to read any exaggeration into that; you always carried it superbly. But it was there, and it is important for you to know it, face it - and then forget about it. My saying this again is partly to remind you of your own worth; the fact that you hurt as much as you do is in many ways a reflection of the latter. And it is in no way incompatible with the toughening I spoke of. You may wonder how I can speak of your growing stronger when you have written me so many times how hard to take it continues to be, seeming to get worse rather than better - may be I'm just stringing you along to help keep up your morale… No, darling. That isn't necessary. The truth itself is a sufficiently powerful stimulus - it always it. I grant you that I occasionally censor my letters to you for a low mood because I feel that just now it's too much for you to take - assuming that the mood might be communicated - [pg 5] and that in that sense I'm not always truthful in conveying myself to you to the best of my ability. Someday I’d like to be as free in writing you as you are toward me; meanwhile I want you to be so. And have so much the better of a bad bargain that I can easily afford to dispense with (What's for me, but not you) the luxury of griping or revealing little fears. (The latter have arisen principally - not more than 3 or 4 times - in connection with future uncertainty. Fran's being here recalled the fact that I hadn't done much thinking or planning about it for a couple of months and left me a little low for a day or so. But I'm discovering not only the futility of such anxieties but also how rapidly they disappear when I work responsibly at something and use my own ideas in it, matching them with other people's on the strength of the ideas themselves without regard for whether or not personal competition is involved. I think I am achieving a flexibility thereby which will make it unnecessary to be concerned about our economic future, whatever I may do. I shall keep working at plans, of course - tho always with the thought that something at present unpredictable might [pg 6] completely alter them later on.) Avoiding the question of how fully I can convey myself to you in letters with the reminder that I haven't time to write in detail of the day's activities and thoughts apart from those which directly concern you and Wendy and me, I do say that the things I've said to you in a vein like tonight's have always been written with feeling and with honesty - as much honesty as I could muster, considering that there is no limit to that commodity except those of time, intelligence and self-discipline. (Don't be afraid of the term ‘self-discipline’ as I use it - I mean just what Rebecca West meant in her essay in I Believe. Read it again if you can located the book). You have toughened and matured, darling, and don't let your self be intimidated by your near-hysteria of the other night or by any reoccurrence of it. Many, many little things have shown me that you have what may fool you is that your hurt remains more or less constant, sometimes increasing and seldom lessening much. It will always be there as long as I am way, though it will gradually be transformed in part to a lack, with the emphasis on making the most of it (as you've already done, and bravely). In either case, hurt of lack, there is a certain [pg 7] emptiness; but don't fail to notice the distinction. Hurt, if it is strong enough, threatens futility; a lack implies fulfillment. Dearly Beloved, in terms of our relationship one to another I will never feel satisfied (satisfaction doesn't always [?] virtue…) until I can say to you exactly what I feel. I am becoming more of a male individual, more impersonal (or anyone impersonal more of the time), less sentimental and hyper-sensitive, more of a healthy animal - in my characteristic makeup than would be apparent from a reading of my letters. I am somewhat eager for more conversation between us on a less personal plane, but as you have seen I am not willing now to have it a the expense of the personal. Always to say what I happen to feel at the moment and in doing so to presume interest and understanding on your part implies a more or less equal emotional interdependence between us. Right now you are more dependent on me than I am you (and I miss you terribly). Doubtless that will always be true to an extent; we are a woman and a man, and I certainly wouldn't have it otherwise! But I would like to have it become, gradually, less so. The more I have come to respect [pg 8] you as an intelligent, growing personality, the more in love with you I've grown. And you may be sure that I don't love you merely out of respect. What happens, probably, is that the farther you progress from what - for lack of a better term- I must call excessive dependence on me, the more I am free to be honest with you and myself in lots of little ways - and love flourishes most when it is freest. I am not complaining, sweetie! I love you, and I don't think any line can be drawn between the personal love of two human beings and the false, compromising love of their excessive dependency on one another. Nobody who's happily married can fail at some time or another to pass the buck on little decisions or mimic his mate's personality. But I would say, without condemning it, that it would be excessive if we were unable to make the most of that month together because I was going out again. Darling, I don't know that it's going to be that way (out again) but I do know that a month, a week or even a day - or a telephone call, all in just the natural and joyous spirit of our last one - is worthwhile for me. I would say also that being left with any insistent permanent scan from this experience, so [pg 9] that one of us long afterward continued to be sporadically bitter about the time lost, was also excessive. I don't think we will be, as a matter of fact, but I do think that the one month, if it materializes will be tough for you despite any impertinent-sounding advice I may give you as to the importance of making the most of it. While I may talk of the ideal, I don't expect the inhuman and it is my dearest wish to be all that you need of me. Never interpret my exhortations, darling, in terms of what may seem to be my theoretical ideal of a wife, or a companion, or anything else, and then struggle to live up to it on that basis. I don't want that; I don't want to make you into anything. I think that you love me so much that you would have difficulty in refraining from making that mistake if I were so vain and mistaken to improve the condition on you subtly. But I love you, not a reflection of myself, and it gives me a very deep pleasure to watch you fulfilling yourself. Conversely - because I love you - I never want to judge by what you are not, any more than a man should judge himself (as I used to) negatively. [pg 10] I merely want to know what you are not in an unperturbed, humanly warm way with a view to helping you fulfill yourself the more: there is joy for both of us in your doing so. (I haven't forgotten the respects in which you are more than I am.) All of that is getting away from the snapshots of Wendy, to which I now turn for another pleased introspection before I put them in Fleischer's book to take with me Sunday when I spend the day with Rhein (sp?) Hurtzburg. It's hard to say which I like best, unless it's the one of you standing her up in front of you (in her special “WENDY” overalls) It's good of you I don't get too many pictures of yourself, you know. The pinafore is precious, and so is the picture, teeth and all! It's amazing to see the young scamp on her feet in the crib picture and almost so in the Taylor. I love the “all wore out” one - both the pose and a better look at Wendy in her overalls. The picture which shows all the greenery makes our house look so inviting - do take one or two more of the outside when you can. In small return, sweetie, I can tell you that my two rolls of film are being developed [pg 11] right now and prints should be in the mail within two or three days. It makes me so glad to have some pictures for you - do hope they come out well. There are some books amongst the collection you sent which should be very useful and will be put to work right away. (The two new ones you bought are good - did you get duplicates for Wendy?) Have put them in my desk at school where the Nisei who largely devise the English program under our direction (they will soon begin teaching each class about twice a week, and are now teaching all the teachers 3 times) have access to them. Their method of teaching as instituted by Tel is to draw words and sentences together with illustrative pictures on large sheets of brown paper - this rather effectively replaces books for all the pupils. Chief shortage is of drawing ideas and things to copy from, and that's preciously where these books will be useful. (Actual picture drawing is done, quite skillfully, by one or two of the Japanese teachers) Thank you for the Blitz cloth. And by the way, this package or collection of packages was mailed first class two days before the parcel post ones [pg 12] I received a couple of days ago - at several times the cost. All of them made good time. I guess there's no advantage to first class; the speed of either one depends on transportation available at the moment. Hey, honey, almost forgot - the colonel has approved my request for transfer and I'm now the Asst. Education Officer. I feel good about that. Sometime soon I'll try to describe what goes on up there in an average day. Now to answer your letter of today before I hit the sack (I hope you’re not getting impatient about the others, which I won't forget) - #167 (all clear thru this one except for #165): Darling, I know how you feel when you say “I just can't get sick here alone,” even though you’d make out somehow if you did. It might even make you feel good to be waited on a little, and Wendy could be taken care of at the hosp. But the chances are that you won't, and don't worry about it because if you mistake that occasional feeling of desperation for approaching illness it could come to your getting sick just on account of it, as you will [pg 13] appreciate. Yes, I suspect that there's some connection between your feeling low and the revival of that pain, darling, but if it persists I do urge you to describe it to Dr. Lusignan. Please, for my sake and no matter how you feel about going to the hospital while I'm away, don't postpone simply out of the fear that you might have to. That's an order! Thank you, darling, for ordering “God, M and the J” - yes, of course I can spare the 3.75, tho if it's alright with you I'll send it on the 15th of next month. I've only that amount in my pocket now and would have to borrow it. Glad you got the [Genji Mono?] - have browsed in it and since wanted to read it. I'll let you know whether to send it to me later on - is it a fancy volume? (Under present living conditions and what with much less rain, books keep OK here now) Had to laugh (no unkindness intended) at Wendy's crawling all over the bed while you were trying to take a nap. That little bundle of energy is going to be something to keep up with from now on. Hold tight for now, honey (but not too tight) - a little later you may be able, and whether you ever spontaneously want to or not I may urge you, to [pg 14] go out and find something other than what you have to carry you along - possibly something like volunteer (or even paid) part time work at the library in the children's room; think about it. In doing so, remember that the more you shield yourself from people and especially men in order to avoid being hurt or jealous, the more you hurt yourself and (potentially) us. There would be so much for you in having an objective occupation of your own to write me about, and I’d love hearing about it. Another idea might be a small day nursery, perhaps in conjunction with someone else in your position, operated for the many mothers in town, husbands absent or present, who could use daytime hours away from their children. Better still might be to work into some existent nursery because the responsibility wouldn't be so heavy. Any other ideas? Nothing is going to be a substitute for me til I get back darling, just as no amount of interesting work here is a substitute for you. I can only say that it does help, and that, in what it does for you in other ways, it's important in its own right. Dearly Beloved, I am - as always - Yours to command Warren
