2009.12.18 Just Words
Hey Dad, How Are The Aliens Treating You?
That's the working title that I've decided on for the collection of stories about my relationship with my dad - despite the fact that I haven't written down any of those stories yet. I have practiced a couple of them on Simon, though, as we've been alone together for Daddy Day Care Fridays. He tends to fall asleep during stories about Grandpa Castle, which isn't exactly an endorsement.
It's pretty easy to forgive myself for not finding more time to do writing lately. Too easy. It's worrisome.
I have this timeline in my head that, after 40, in addition to the prostrate exam I also mean to get more ambitious about selling my writing. And, before I do that, I need to get more writing done. Of the books I have in my head, the one about my dad is rising to the top in terms of priority - because I mean to have it ready for Simon such that he can know his paternal grandfather.
When I'm 40, Simon will be 3. When my dad was 40, I was 13. I try to imagine having a 13-year-old right now, and I find myself terrified. Not that it'll be any easier when I'm 50. Just, you know, less startling.
Today was dad's birthday. He admitted that when he was younger having a birthday so close to Christmas was disappointing for him, because it meant that many people tended to combine gifts for him. I hope he got numb to it, because I can't remember a single significant birthday gift I got him. Part of me wants to vow to spend this holiday writing down stories, as a birthday gift to dad.
Though even as I blush at the sentimental weight of the gesture, I think I know what dad would say. He would tilt his head forward, and raise his massive eyebrows such that his long sloping forehead would be furrowed with bemusement. And with a deadpan delivery ruined by a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he'd tell me that I could just pay homage by emulating him and giving myself the gift of time to read some books.
See, dad, you're just suggesting alternatives for the sake of suggesting alternatives. Like you always did, just to see how I rationalize my actions. I happen to know that you'd be quietly pleased to know that I'd made some progress on the stories about us, and that you'd be ecstatic for your grandson to have them available early on. Yeah, yeah, I can see how letting myself be content is perhaps what you'd like most. Thing is, I think I need these stories written down in order to be content. To share them, especially with Simon, and to feel like there's some way to offset the degree that my son will miss out by not knowing you firsthand.
Also, writing is fun. So there. Shaddup.
Anyway: happy birthday, dad.