6-17-18 On Fatherhood and the Heat

It’s so hot you realize you got a second self inside, sweating too, who can’t stop, no matter how much he wipes it away. Didn’t get much lower than 75degrees overnight night, a sure sign of an impending scorcher. Got out in the morning, tended to the chickens, they aggressively chase me around for the crumble. Makes you think they’re starving how they behave, but it’s just the crumble calling them.

Britney and I did the math the other night on our Fathers. She said she had a Father until she was twelve and then nada. I said, well I had two and they amounted to a half in those early years, but it was sort of hard to calculate that really.

I definitely know my Dad, got the Fatherly imprint, which is so important. Right and wrong. Someone big and strong in your corner. An inherent ally. Someone to lay on while watching a Saturday night movie. Someone to wrestle with.

Around five, I got to do every other weekend with my Dad. I can remember being sad missing him after going back to Mom’s, but also sort of glad to be home, because that’s what I knew and was comfortable with, where my siblings were.

Respectfully, both my parents were having a hard time figuring their lives out then. I think the 80’s, divorces kids, TV generation had it sort of rough. A lot of cocaine and hair spray had everyone acting weird. Trying to emulate that baby boomer generation in some ways, materialists, but things not quite working right. Morals shifting. World changing. Time to rebel against square, successful parents. Damn the man, run to California, make a baby, come back and try to sleep your way to the burbs…

My Dad shines though as a Grandpa. Never tires of hanging with my three boys, teasing, playing, giving into whatever they want. An oracle and sage, master ball-buster because of deferred respect and authority. He has seeded an internal war of sorts recently with the declaration that the Hulk in an early comic book had picked up a WHOLE mountain. This was gasoline on the already raging debate of Hulk vs Ironman.

Kein, five, is an Ironman fanatic and has dreams of building his own suit, sees this mountain business as impossible, and I suspect an affront to Ironman’s superiority. I was informed today that Grandpa found said comic from 1967 and it was being shipped via Amazon. A crucial exchange approaches…

He’s been great to me as I’ve gotten older. That residual man knowledge finally coming into play, concerned with motors and machines, tools, automobile problems, that can be so useful and empowering. He likes to come mow the grass and weed-whack, which is always appreciated.

I get a weird sense when we’re all in the same space. A plurality of self, across space and time. I can see our future selves and our past selves. And it feels good, big, like being a Captain of a boat on the open sea.

We are time travelers, I’d argue that. Timelines aren’t fixed of course. Each choice and shot into the future, a rearranging of the game. You got to be aware of the human dialectic, the push and pull, the yin-yang swirl of reality. The lesson that is delivered will be rebounded, not duplicated. Your children will usurp you. You will rediscover yourself forever.

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