My older son, the Monkey, turns 3-years-old today. I know everyone loves their children, but it sometimes overwhelms me how much love I have for him and his younger brother -- and for his older brother and sister who were bonuses when his mom and I decided to try to make a life together.
The Monkey's place in my heart is unique though. It's not that I love him more, but it's just different. He was unplanned and really came along amid circumstances that were less than ideal. I was on the downside of a midlife crisis and had managed to lose my faith, my first wife, and all motivation to work. I had no idea who I was. I had twice planned my own suicide and had suicidal ideation on a near-constant basis. I had also long given up on the idea of having children, though it was something that I really longed for.
When the Goddess came into my life, that was really the beginning of a massive change. The months before we had the Monkey were prologue. When he was born, it was Chapter 1, Vol. II of my life. All thoughts of ending life were gone. I could think only of how wonderful this new person was and how I wanted to give him a life where he felt loved, secure, and happy.
So now I'm awake at 2:30 AM on his birthday, after falling asleep with his little body pressed up against mine. We'd read Goodnight, Bunny, and Goodnight, Moon, and Giraffes Can't Dance and Halloween Makes Me Batty and The Very Hungry Caterpillar -- that last one *at least* 8 times -- before bed.
I know every father thinks his child is brilliant, but he's such a smart little boy. He knows his ABCs, he can count to 40, he can get three partials on the trumpet, he's memorized dozens of songs and books, and he says some of the most remarkable things.
Tonight he held out a piece of a broken toy to me and asked, "What is it?"
"It's part of the castle tower," I said.
"No," he said. "It's a cone. It's a tower cone."
We were reading Goodnight, Moon and I asked, "How many mittens are there?"
He counted: "One, two."
"And how many socks?" I asked.
"One, two," he counted.
"And how many socks AND mittens?" I asked.
"One, two, three, four," he answered. (This may seem like nothing to some of you, but if you know much about child development, you'll get why this brought a smile to my face.)
He knows what an excavator is and what a saxophone is and he looks for the moon every time he leaves the house at dusk, at night, or in the early hours of the morning.
I'm kind of rambling, but you get it: I'm enamored with him and could listen to him all day long. He's honestly one of my favorite people to talk to.
But my heart is so, so heavy tonight.
Part of that is remembering that on his birthday two years ago, we went to see his grandmother for the first time in the hospital after cancer was discovered on her pancreas and liver. She wouldn't make it to Christmas. He has only one living grandparent, and that's something that makes me very sad.
But honestly, a lot of it is the anxiety I feel about the world he's come into, the world I've helped create for him.
Without turning this into an overtly political post, I'm more worried about his future now than I was Tuesday morning.
Some of you undoubtedly think that is completely unwarranted. But while I may not be the smartest guy in the room all the time, I know I'm not the stupidest either. I've read a few books. I keep up with the world. I try to think critically and weigh evidence and all the available evidence tells me that there are forces at work that create a more immediate danger to him -- and one that is far, far beyond my ability to protect him from. I'm aware that this danger is probably less so because he is not a brown child or female or of a particular religion. But there are dangers, nonetheless.
I'm fond of telling people that the Monkey "saved my life." I'm not being metaphorical. I hope I am able to give him a world that is worthy of the debt I owe him.
"And how many socks AND mittens?" I asked.
"One, two, three, four," he answered. (This may seem like nothing to some of you, but if you know much about child development, you'll get why this brought a smile to my face.)
He knows what an excavator is and what a saxophone is and he looks for the moon every time he leaves the house at dusk, at night, or in the early hours of the morning.
I'm kind of rambling, but you get it: I'm enamored with him and could listen to him all day long. He's honestly one of my favorite people to talk to.
But my heart is so, so heavy tonight.
Part of that is remembering that on his birthday two years ago, we went to see his grandmother for the first time in the hospital after cancer was discovered on her pancreas and liver. She wouldn't make it to Christmas. He has only one living grandparent, and that's something that makes me very sad.
But honestly, a lot of it is the anxiety I feel about the world he's come into, the world I've helped create for him.
Without turning this into an overtly political post, I'm more worried about his future now than I was Tuesday morning.
Some of you undoubtedly think that is completely unwarranted. But while I may not be the smartest guy in the room all the time, I know I'm not the stupidest either. I've read a few books. I keep up with the world. I try to think critically and weigh evidence and all the available evidence tells me that there are forces at work that create a more immediate danger to him -- and one that is far, far beyond my ability to protect him from. I'm aware that this danger is probably less so because he is not a brown child or female or of a particular religion. But there are dangers, nonetheless.
I'm fond of telling people that the Monkey "saved my life." I'm not being metaphorical. I hope I am able to give him a world that is worthy of the debt I owe him.
