The Reflecting Pond
I’m thinking of taking Emerson to the zoo tomorrow—on a visit, not as a donation. My stunted memory reminds me though that the zoo’s exhibits consist of a meerkat and a pigeon. Hardly seems worth the price of admission. But I have a coupon so what the fuck, eh. He is always so appreciative to go anywhere. He is on my mind constantly it seems. More so lately than usual if that is possible.
Daycare issues weigh on me heavily but that’s a rant for another day. His behavior has been all over the map. He is at once (and most often) the sweetest child to have ever graced this earth; and then in the pre-blink of a tired eye, a new entry in Webster’s beneath the word “Difficult.” Complete with his own illustration. I guess that makes him…oh, I don’t know…a three-year-old. Often when I get on to him or correct him, he throws up his perfect little hands and says, “That’s it, I’m outta here!” You try to keep a straight face when he does that.
Next weekend we head to DC where he will visit his Nana and get to see honest-to-goodness dinosaur bones at the Smithsonian. I am excited for him. That Boy does love a dinosaur. We’ll also show him the Hope Diamond and Archie Bunker’s chair—but I’m not sure he’ll have the same appreciation for pop culture as I do. I also want him to see the Lincoln Memorial. And the Reflecting Pond. I imagine he’ll look a little baffled when I tell him this is where Forrest Gump reconnected with his Jenny. But that’s ok. He knows his Daddy is a little odd. He is an especially good traveler and I expect it to be a good trip.
….I am more tired than usual tonight. The obvious solution is for me to go to bed—it is late. As I always seem to misinterpret the obvious, I mix another drink (Evan & a splash) and fire up my second cigar. A Gran Habana Corojo #5 to follow my Gispert Corona. At times I am so wise that it hurts me where I pee. It would just be sacrilege to waste this delightfully mild Tennessee night. Thus far, I’ve only had to smack the shit out of one wayward June Bug. It is bliss to me that they are elsewhere tonight. I will instead accept the occasional moth with indifference. The break in battle gives me more time to ponder the aging Jeep. I am fairly confident that I’ve narrowed the source of daily antifreeze puddles to a failing water pump. This is fine, because upon researching the problem, I found that most auto repair shops in Nashville are simply giving those away to nice people. I’ll take the Jeep in on Monday. “Hi, Guys,” I’ll say. “I’m here for a water pump.” Pause. Closed-mouth smile. “I’ll be paying with my rock star good looks.”
Hell, they may even throw in a tank of gas.
In truth, she is a good Jeep. She has simply had the misfortune of being burdened with a neglectful owner. Someone should have warned her before she entered into this relationship. You know, he can’t even change the oil, don’t you? Won’t even rotate your tires consistently—you could do better! That same someone should have had a similar conversation with my house. You know, he’s not even going to address your roof, eaves, or plumbing issues. To be forewarned is to prosper.
That’s just like me though. To focus my waning energy on such things when the night is cool and comforting; when I have a stocked humidor and liquor cabinet; when others have real problems. I kick myself in these weak moments. Fact is I have a Jeep. I have a home. I have cigars and whiskey. I have a Boy who knows he is loved and who loves me equally. I am going to DC in a week. My Boy will see dinosaurs, Goddamnit. And I will see our nation’s capitol. And a baseball game.
When no one is looking, I will dip my toes in the waters of the reflecting pond, and in my mind’s eye swim the breaststroke end to end. I will touch the hand of Lincoln. I will smile at strangers. I will drink Makers Mark until my head clears. I will hold Em’s hand and pause on Pennsylvania Avenue. I will bask in the DC heat. I will take him to the Wall and to the soldiers who fought in Korea. I will buy him something from a street vendor. I will watch him take it all in. And I will come to the realization that I am the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.
Daycare issues weigh on me heavily but that’s a rant for another day. His behavior has been all over the map. He is at once (and most often) the sweetest child to have ever graced this earth; and then in the pre-blink of a tired eye, a new entry in Webster’s beneath the word “Difficult.” Complete with his own illustration. I guess that makes him…oh, I don’t know…a three-year-old. Often when I get on to him or correct him, he throws up his perfect little hands and says, “That’s it, I’m outta here!” You try to keep a straight face when he does that.
Next weekend we head to DC where he will visit his Nana and get to see honest-to-goodness dinosaur bones at the Smithsonian. I am excited for him. That Boy does love a dinosaur. We’ll also show him the Hope Diamond and Archie Bunker’s chair—but I’m not sure he’ll have the same appreciation for pop culture as I do. I also want him to see the Lincoln Memorial. And the Reflecting Pond. I imagine he’ll look a little baffled when I tell him this is where Forrest Gump reconnected with his Jenny. But that’s ok. He knows his Daddy is a little odd. He is an especially good traveler and I expect it to be a good trip.
….I am more tired than usual tonight. The obvious solution is for me to go to bed—it is late. As I always seem to misinterpret the obvious, I mix another drink (Evan & a splash) and fire up my second cigar. A Gran Habana Corojo #5 to follow my Gispert Corona. At times I am so wise that it hurts me where I pee. It would just be sacrilege to waste this delightfully mild Tennessee night. Thus far, I’ve only had to smack the shit out of one wayward June Bug. It is bliss to me that they are elsewhere tonight. I will instead accept the occasional moth with indifference. The break in battle gives me more time to ponder the aging Jeep. I am fairly confident that I’ve narrowed the source of daily antifreeze puddles to a failing water pump. This is fine, because upon researching the problem, I found that most auto repair shops in Nashville are simply giving those away to nice people. I’ll take the Jeep in on Monday. “Hi, Guys,” I’ll say. “I’m here for a water pump.” Pause. Closed-mouth smile. “I’ll be paying with my rock star good looks.”
Hell, they may even throw in a tank of gas.
In truth, she is a good Jeep. She has simply had the misfortune of being burdened with a neglectful owner. Someone should have warned her before she entered into this relationship. You know, he can’t even change the oil, don’t you? Won’t even rotate your tires consistently—you could do better! That same someone should have had a similar conversation with my house. You know, he’s not even going to address your roof, eaves, or plumbing issues. To be forewarned is to prosper.
That’s just like me though. To focus my waning energy on such things when the night is cool and comforting; when I have a stocked humidor and liquor cabinet; when others have real problems. I kick myself in these weak moments. Fact is I have a Jeep. I have a home. I have cigars and whiskey. I have a Boy who knows he is loved and who loves me equally. I am going to DC in a week. My Boy will see dinosaurs, Goddamnit. And I will see our nation’s capitol. And a baseball game.
When no one is looking, I will dip my toes in the waters of the reflecting pond, and in my mind’s eye swim the breaststroke end to end. I will touch the hand of Lincoln. I will smile at strangers. I will drink Makers Mark until my head clears. I will hold Em’s hand and pause on Pennsylvania Avenue. I will bask in the DC heat. I will take him to the Wall and to the soldiers who fought in Korea. I will buy him something from a street vendor. I will watch him take it all in. And I will come to the realization that I am the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.
posted by Ryan at 11:38 AM
10 Comments:
I love me a good batch of meerkats almost as much as the attention-seeking otters in their simulated creek environment.
when I have a stocked humidor and liquor cabinet; That's all you had to say. A batch of meerkats and some mud on the grill. I'm all in...
There are many things magical about DC. I hope you have a great trip.
Enjoy your trip to DC. I loved the trip you took me on, and your tying it all together in the end as you realize that perspective and appreciation, above all things, matter most, and not the jeep or gutters or whatever.
Em's one lucky kid, Ryan.
E., I'm not one to turn down a beer.
K., Meerkats and mud on the grill, Baby!
J., Thanks. I look forward to it.
Hamel, Thanks for the well wishes. I appreciate the comment on Em--I spend an awful lot of my time ,though, thinking how he so often deserves much better. Maybe that's part of what we do as fathers. Second guess ourselves daily?
Ryan, I second-guess myself by the second. Should I let this slide? OK how about that? Ok, not this, but is it worth a scolding, a talking, or getting sent to his room, or . ..
I hope my sons realize I'm winging this to the best of my ability. Sometimes, I'm not sure that ability is enough.
So you're right, a big part of our job is second-guessing.
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