Friday Evening Recap

The temperature dropped to 113 degrees this evening, so the only logical move was to gather the Boy, some ice water, a blanket and head right to the Red Caboose Park for live music and play. By the time the music started, a cold front had swept in and the temperature dropped like a Frenchman’s rifle to a brisk 110 degrees. I was fretting the lack of sweaters for Em and me but we huddled and persevered. Actually, it was good to be outside, good to be with Em, and good to sweat. Nashville hot will never be even remotely comparable to Augusta hot. I whine simply for the sake of whining—it was not that bad. A couple people did collapse, but I figured Fuck ‘em, stepped over them, spread the blanket, and turned Crazy Ass loose to run like the wind. By Friday, I am typically spent. Today was no different. It would have been easy to plant Em in front of the television, sit amongst the refuse that defines my living room, and play slug for the next five hours. How in the fuck though, I wondered, would that benefit either of us? So Caboose Park-bound we were. The band was just terrible—really. But we enjoyed every song they played. It was hot and relaxing. And Em had a blast. He didn’t ass-out until near the end and I was able to be patient and fix that. It was a good couple hours of music, the Boy dancing, running and rolling, and of rough horseplay. I liked being focused on the music and on us, being able to flip that paranoia switch that occasionally sticks and forget about the dozens of folks behind us.

While wrestling with the Boy, entertaining the Boy, and keeping an obscenely overbearing eye on the Boy, I noticed a couple things that gave me pause tonight. I acknowledge that I am as flawed a man as you will likely encounter. But one decent characteristic of my being that I will allow myself is that I am keenly observant. I notice things. Another quality (if I am being honest) is that I am innately capable of minding my own business. I adhere to a strict code (my only one really) of To each his own. Granted, this is hardly a groundbreaking philosophy—you may have even heard of it. While I have heard many people claim the same, what I typically find is that to each his own for most folks means “I don’t care what anybody believes or does as long as it’s the same as what I believe or do.” With a hint of arrogance I can say with absolute candor, I actually do believe in and follow the motto.

A couple—younger than me—set up shop a couple yards to my right. They had a cute boy of their own, maybe eight months younger than Emerson. The mother was attractive and attentive; the guy attentive as well but kind of nondescript. They had a blanket and snacks and an appreciation of poorly done cover songs. I sensed the boy to be hers and not his. Ten minutes into the show, two older women and a brood walked up and sat their folding chairs directly in front of this young family—literally two feet in front of them. The Caboose Park is fairly spacious. Many, many prime spots affording great views of the stage were available. But these folks chose that spot. The people truly seemed void of malice. I don’t think they surveyed the grounds and said to themselves, “Now there’s a nice couple to fuck with.” They were clearly just fucking oblivious. To anyone and anything but themselves. As a constant observer, I marvel at such things. For my abilities (limited they may be), I cannot fathom that level of cluelessness. It is a difficult thing to abide. But it was not my dance and therefore not my business. I did not so much as exchange a knowing glance or shrug of the shoulders with the couple and child as they patiently picked up all their shit and moved several feet behind me. In the big scheme, it was hardly a big thing; but just another of the daily occurrences that baffle me. A total lack of common decency and consideration.

Some things, apparently, I will never get. Sigh.

This is simply one of a few such things I noticed. But, as it should have been, my attention was focused on a rambunctious, sweaty Boy named Emerson. On his exploits and explorations. His occasional attempt to extend the boundaries that had been placed before him. His sometimes hilarious internal conflict with said boundaries and how he might circumvent them without falling to the wrath of his father. On his beautiful and utter lack of self-consciousness. On his Navy Seals/Special Ops/Green Berets ability to meld into the very scenery he inhabits and then appear behind me to tackle me without warning. Stealthy little bastard.

So I repeat: To each his own. My own and I had a great balmy time tonight.