Michael's Fáilte

Welcome to these writing warmups, blatherings, rantings, meditations, perorations, salutations, latest and those on time, those narrative, declarative, interrogative, gollywogative and other outdated, belated, simulated musings, perusings, shavings and other close calls, with no disrespect intended, that's why no real names included whenever impossible to avoid the guilt that came in the crib for uttering something that would hurt or injure those in authority, being of everlasting servitude to all and sundry, having chosen the road not taken and the frost on the pumpkin long before the kettle turned black or the cat found its own tail fascinating,
Your humble servant, etc.

The island writes in fire and steam each morning on the pages of the sea

The island writes in fire and steam each morning on the pages of the sea
Lava Meets Ocean. Lynx, Starboard Side. Day 2.Early Morning, July 8 2006, Looking for Flashes off Chain of Craters, Big Island

Saturday, May 1, 2010

I'm only flabbergasted...

Minding my own business gets more unattainable with age. Our young friends had their child on Thursday and I saw him back at work on Sunday. I take exception to this flagrant abuse of hard-won paternal rights. It's a perfect example of how the State steps in with common sense in the rule of the law after centuries of dismantling both the commons and the sensible. And it's hard-won, damnit. I want to say, get your ass back home where it belongs, I don't care how tough and capable she says she is. "There's nothing I can do" is a pathetic statement that makes me ashamed for the male of the species. I used to be one. Now I can claim general membership in the human race but there are moments, sometimes more than one a day, when I do revert to that shameful state by asking too many questions and/or allowing Her to attend to the basics of our survival while I simply stand there and watch. So you can see that membership in humanity——I am loathe to call it civilization anymore——is renewable daily.

Back to our young man, the first-time father. What is he? Out hunting? Dragging the boar home by its heels to the pit fire? She looks up at him as he enters the cave and smiles and the babe's mouth falls from the tit. They are agog at his return.

Or is it that he can't wait to share that cigar? What is he? Part rooster? People line up to shake his hand and congratulate him. Meanwhile the miles of separation between him and his new family are palpable.

Am I being a bit harsh? His co-workers response to my questioning and bafflement was quick: women have been popping out babies since time began. Vietnamese women gave birth in the rice paddies and kept on working [someone actually said this]. Now that's the shameful sort of reaction that wipes out all our extra credit as males. What's wrong here? Mind my own business? This is where I step in and say with a slight tremble in my voice, When I was a young man...like the character of Aubrey in 'Brief Lives'. The point is, some of us worked hard to win the right to stay home with our newborn. We don't want to throw that away, even if it means cleaning out the garage or digging in the garden if we can't think of what to do. We must not leave the sphere of new life. If we follow that hard-won rule, we might discover something profound. We might actually get to live outside our own heads, even for an hour. Wow! Think of it! Just stick to the home territory and accept one basic tenet of the Secret Oral Teachings of Being a Better Human Being: If you stand still long enough, you'll learn something. Okay, you can sit down if you need to. Knuckle the sleepers out of your eyes so you can see the world around you better. How many hours were you missing in action? What's that? Two hours' worth of driving? Cool. That's some serious interaction there, you know, traffic, the right radio station, finding the cup holder. And how many hours total? Eight? Ten? Twelve? I'm only guessing here. I'm only flabbergasted.

Oh let's see, my son's three days old and you're saying I have a choice? On the one hand, hang out with the woman in my life who just did this extraordinary thing called giving birth to a little person...oh my God, it's a miracle! A person who's going to grow up and continue the species wearing my genes and following my noble example, oh my God! Think of all the things we're going to do together. Wow! I just want to see him and be around him because he's changing so fast I don't want to miss anything or...

...on the other hand, get in my truck, twist that key in the ignition, find the right side of the road 'cause this is America, land of opportunity! I'm going back to work! Do my part! Everything's under control now. She doesn't need me. I'm not superfluous, you understand, I'm doing my bit. This is what guys do, right? Head off down the road like a rubber toad and back by sunset...if you're lucky, honey. God! I'm tired of superwomen. Why don't they just keep their mouths shut and keep chopping those vegetables? Get the laundry done? Take out the garbage——oh, well, I'll do that one, that's cool. Pay the bills! And change his shitty nappy (diaper)!

Okay, okay. I've said my bit. I accept that paternal leave is there in case you need it and in your case you don't. Nope, sorry. It's (I'm) like a dog with a bone. Can't seem to give it up without a little snarl, even when my best friend takes it away. It's that New Life thing, see. He's just a little guy. And you're not there.

That would be a good place to shut up and leave you alone but I need to add that you have to take the long view sometimes. Sometimes there will be separation and it will be painful and difficult——Go on, tell me You gotta think positive, here, Uncle. Tell me you're just going with the flow. I'm just saying intimacy is where it's at. It's the point of contact. The little one is teaching you now. "The child is father to the man," as the poet Wordsworth said. This is the first, the original textbook and the pages are made of skin and the chapter headings say things like mother, father, and child. There will be a test.

Go make a peanut butter sandwich.

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