Entry #9

Freckle Resurrection

It is Easter Sunday and you are two and a half years old. Your mother and I stayed up late last night cutting out construction-paper bunny rabbit paw prints and setting up an egg hunt. We were ambitious.

When I went to free you from your crib early this morning, the first thing you said to me in your sweet whisper of a voice was, “Daddy, I have a polka-dot on my finger.” You showed me your finger. Right hand. Middle digit. There, on the outside of it, between the top two knuckle joints, was the tiniest pin-prick of a dark mark.

Your first freckle.

I must tell you, I was devastated.

As the morning moved forward, through the preparations for the day and the dressing and the toys and the treats, I had the urge to rewind it all back or at least to lean into it and dig in my heals and keep it from moving any farther. Your perfect little body, your blemish-free form, was now marred by a small brown speck.

My imagination telescoped forward and I could see an inventory of forthcoming devastations, of marks that time and disappointment and other terrible inevitable forces will scratch onto your pristine surface. But as I watched you smile as you struggled to pull a cream egg from the windowsill and as I watched the wonder in your face as you found Easter treasure hidden beneath the couch, the sad terror I’d initially felt eased up a bit.

By the time I was bathing you much later this evening and I found your second freckle on your chest, then a third high on your forehead, my reaction was more supine. No panic. I pointed out the spots to you, and I showed you some of my own, and we got on with our night together.

I want you to know I’m good with it. You were perfect. Trust me. You were absolutely pure - you were sculpted from a piece of flawless alabaster. But that couldn’t last forever. Now that the chips and spots are appearing, you’re more like me. I am tainted and I am marked and I am flawed but I’m real too. And now so are you!

(At least to me, anyway.)

Entry #8

On Your First Birthday

You are one year old today. I have spent the last year getting to know you. You’re pretty neat.

When I come home from work, you often sit on my knee and we dance to rowdy gangster rap together. But only if you want to.

Yes you are a cool kid. But you scare me too.

You could walk before you were ten months old. And I don’t mean that halfway baby walk/crawl that over-competitive parents like to label as walking to help illustrate how advanced their child is when compared with others. When I say “walking,” I mean the real deal.

(But I guess in a way I’m still like those zealous parents because I do think you are advanced. Not so much in ability or maturity for your age. You are advanced in your degree of stubbornness. You are a powerfully stubborn child.)

Nobody decided to show you how to walk. In fact, we kind of discouraged it. But you never liked to crawl and it was immediately obvious that you had decided crawling was for suckers– you were determined to move about upright on both feet. You would always push yourself up from the floor, or pull yourself up on something or someone and try to hold your balance while standing. The only crawling you ever did was to get to places where you could practice walking. I don’t know why you decided that walking was what you wanted, but trust me, you decided. We saw it in your eyes. You could not be deterred.

Your stubbornness is near super-human.

If you decide you are feeding yourself, no one has a hope of helping you eat. If you decide you do not want to be held, you summon extraordinary baby powers and fight and struggle and trash about violently until you get your way.

Your stubbornness is going to make you a monster to teach, because you are the type of learner that only learns when they want to, not when they are told to. This, I think, might be the cause of some friction between us further on down the line.

But I also think that if you can use it right, this astonishing degree of stubbornness will be a great asset.

Entry #7

Your Mother

You are four months old.

It is late on a hot night.

Your mother sometimes looks lost in heavy thought and she doesn't know anyone is watching her.

Cries from the other room make her sad; we kept you out too late and you are upset. The sounds you make are gut-wrenching to her. I know this because she said so.

I don't know how to make either of you feel better.

Entry #6

On Your Birth

You were born ten days ago. It is Christmas, 2009.
You are sitting on my lap as I type this. You are very small.

So far, most all you do is eat, sleep, poop, pee, and cry.
Sometimes when you fuss, I sing you silly rap songs.

I like you very much.


Some Things You Should Know

You were born on a very cold day. It hadn't really snowed all winter long until you decided you were coming. And then it fell hard. The snow piled quickly and coated the city, like a gingerbread house if the baker got overzealous and frosted everything in thick sugary globs. You are a child of the ice and snow and cold. You are also tardy, but worth the wait.

I was the first living person you looked at. We will always prefer to talk to each other with our eyes.

Five is your lucky number. It will follow you for your entire life.

Elephants are my favorite animal. I will make you like them because I often dream that I am one and I think that means something.

When they were stitching up my wife/your mum, they bundled you up and gave you to me and made us wait in a pale green room. I pulled you very close and whispered to you. I made you three promises. And although that moment might sound very cliched and staged, I assure you it was very real and I was very genuine. The promises are between you and me and I will keep them. I'll make certain.

Entry #5

The last day of summer holidays is like the very worst Sunday Blues, mixed with a touch of lamented morning. And a kick to the balls.

I walk around with a blank expression, looking at the ground and sighing a lot. I wear black and veil my smiles if I see or hear anything humorous. I like depressing music because it gives me direction.

I want others to know I am sad.

I feel like I've been asked to do some role-playing and the little slip of paper I pulled from the session leader's hat says, "emo". Cool. I can do that.

I also tend to clutch at my crotch and wince in pain whenever I'm asked to do anything.

Right before school starts, through no fault of my own, it seems the teacher reverts to a child.

Entry #4

Yesterday we went to the first ultrasound. Unbelievable emotional rush.

The technician was a delightful older Slovakian lady. Very patient with both her patients.

I, watching from the sidelines, was most fascinated by the technology; its history, how it worked, and I was ultimately overwhelmed by how advanced we are, like how one feels when they see shuttle launches or a new gaming system's graphics. The science of it resonated with me.

The lovely lady undergoing the procedure, however, was focused on other concerns; how many fingers, heart rate and other indicators of normalcy, and she was moved by the emotional enormity of the thing, like how one feels when they read a touching book or see a sappy commercial. The love of it resonated with her.

If I was an uncertain soul before then this parenting business is going to thrust me up into a whole new level, I'm sure. But at least I have a partner who has a good habit of taking the opposite point-of-view. I think we're well-equipped for success because, although we'll both be uncertain when it comes to determining how to proceed with the thousands of new critical decisions we're about to have to face, between the two of us one is bound to see things from the right perspective - right?

Entry #3

First day of true break. I stayed in bed with a bad ankle for most of it. I had a laptop and a cellphone and a landline cordless phone all around me. They formed a meditative triangle of isolation. I am a techno-monk.

I spoke with a few friends who don't have jobs. But mostly I read articles on Wikipedia. I'd search one term and allow myself to explore tangential hyperlink after link. The laptop battery died without warning.

I read the first three chapter of a novel I hope to bring into the classroom next September and thought a lot about how to make its antiquated content real and meaningful to today's young people so they will accidentally start to form an awed appreciation for the stylistic craftsmanship of the words.

I haven't figured out how to do that yet.

A glorious day.