ever since I was a kid I've been glued to television. It was/is my drug. My addiction of sorts. It meant more to me than the world at one point in my life. Watching it meant skipping school, feigning illnesses from fever to the poops, and, well, creating a fantasy world where my life ended and a new, and better, life began.
carol burnett was the first I can remember. how was she standing in los angeles on a stage talking but she was also in our family room at harmony road in hallstead, pennsylvania? celebrities didn't come to hallstead. it was a town of about 800 people back then. but they did. through tv. it was magical. she could make you laugh out loud or cry, or clap, or dream, wish you could be there in person seeing and hearing it all with everyone else in that lucky audience. my bedroom was right above the family room. i could hear her through the vent in the bedroom floor. 10pm on friday i think. i know it was late and staying up to watch her was
forbidden.
once i got older, and my problems grew bigger along with me, i turned to more sophisticated means of distraction; soap operas. both daytime and prime time. daytime was the young and the restless and prime time was dallas. oh and knots landing, and then came dynasty. i knew the morning schedule down pat. wake up and 9am was donahue. oh how i wanted to be on donahue. he was the coolest. i never really felt he let people talk all the time, nor did i like how he seemed to lecture people every now and then, but i loved how you never knew what some dork in the audience was going to say. where else could i see cher? then at 10am it was time for game shows. price is right was at 11am. i don't remember the filler between 10 and 11am. at noon it was the news. action news. wbng tv. odd how i ended up working there more than a decade later.
at 12:30 it began. first i think it was the edge of night or somethng, then the young and the restless, followed by as the world turns and guiding light. at four pm it was talk show time. first i think dina shore, or was it that other guy? michael douglas? no. mike something. i can see him. dark hair, combed over. mike....i'll think of it..
i would lose myself. all my problems went away. my mother's alcoholism, my sister's rage, my father's denial, my fear of myself for being gay, being bullied, the arguments, the anger. it was gone. i couldn't shoot up fast enough. it was my heroin. i hear clients talk about that rush of getting high and i laugh to myself. i knew that feeling. i knew the devastation it could bring as well. life is going on while the tv is going on except it's not a rehearsal. that time is gone. that hour is now the past. it's gone never to be repeated.
i guess it's easier to escape then face things. or is it that sometimes you just don't know what the hell to do? or is it that we need comfort? i needed a schedule. i needed something i could rely on every single day. i lived in what felt like chaos at the time. no schedule to mom's drinking. no schedule to the arguing. i needed one. my tv gave that to me. sitting in that dark green leather, pleather recliner in front of that tv made me feel in control. needless to say i hated special announcements. i remember the day reagan was shot and it came on tv. i think it interrupted one of my soaps. i was livid. can't this wait? is this news that important to lose a scene from yandr forever?
to this day i'm addicted to tv. not as much as before. certain shows. certain soap operas. but two kids and a husband have a lot of drama on their own. i've found new drugs to take the place of old ones. new distractions from the truth.
more later. so much more inside.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Forgiveness....
Forgiveness is a toughie. It's a loaded word for many people, a seemingly unreachable thing to others, and untouchable to a chosen few. Mention it to someone who has been really hurt and you're likely to see a fireworks display that you don't really want to see or hear.
It seems like to a lot of people forgiveness means; something that hurt me is okay, it make what someone did to me okay, it's a stamp of approval, it means they got away with it, it means that they aren't being held accountable for it anymore; that they will do it again to someone if I stop punishing them for it, that I'm giving in and accept that what they did to me was right, okay, not a problem, acceptable, that I'll forget what happened to me and it will happen again and I can't let that happen, that I'm weak, vulnerable, and scared. I think that about covers it. That's what I've heard from many, many, people from crack whore's and drug dealers, to moms and dads, paranoid schizophrenics, to 17 year old girls, and 45 year old singers.
The truth is; forgiveness means nothing of the sort. Forgiving someone isn't about the other person; it's about me. It's about my feelings, attitudes, behaviors, life, needs, wants, anger, joy, rage....it's about me. It's about letting go of the pain, letting go of having to relive the painful experience over and over and over again. It's about gaining true control over my life - not just being a control freak trying to do the undoable which is to control everyone and and everything, but that's another post.
Think about it. Someone does something that hurts me. Let's say I was abused as a child. Emotionally abused, mentally and physically abused by a parent. Let's say it was my Dad. It all happened when I was about 5 years old, until I was about 12 or so when I got big enough to fight back. I was ashamed of being abused. I couldn't tell a single living soul. Let's say that Dad would always tell me I'm stupid, worthless, dumb, fucked up, screw up, can't do anything right. I started to believe it. He would remind me that he wished I was never born, hated the day I was brought home, hated my mother for getting pregnant in the first place. I was the dark sheep of the family. The loser. The one who just could do no good. I started to act like it. If I did something wrong I was beaten with a belt, or spanked, as he called it. I would strip down to my underwear alone in my room and wait for him to come and hit me with his belt as many times as he felt I needed. I felt embarrassed and ashamed. It was humiliating. Everyone in the family knew. My other brothers and sisters. They all knew. We talked about it; but told no one else. Mom? She knew too. She'd even stop him when my screaming got too loud and she thought he had crossed the line. It was too little; too late.
Sound familiar?
Fast forward. I'm not 35 years old, I hate my job, my wife and I argue constantly, I got married because I had to (she got pregnant); not really because I wanted too. I'm not a happy person per say, I drink quite a bit. My dead end job isn't what I wanted because I had to drop out of school when my wife got pregnant. I'm overweight, smoke, and have a really hard time looking at myself in the mirror. I'm kind of a doormat in that takes a lot for me to get upset and do or say anything about something to anyone. I can fall asleep on a dime; but can't stay asleep for long. I can't afford to lose my job so I let my boss take advantage of me. My wife uses words like loser, wimp, coward, to describe me during our fights. Our fights haven't gotten really physical but I have pushed her and shoved her away from me. Oh, and if you mention my father I say something like, yeah, he was rough on me as a kid, but I'm over it. It's no big. My mother is a hero. She can do no wrong. She saved me. People say we are as close as a mother and son should be. I have no anger towards her at all.
No big? Over it? I've heard it dozens of times. When I mention forgiving the father I usually get a strong reaction of either shut the hell up, that's ridiculous, or are you kidding me? Then I ask, how is treating yourself so badly and living a life of hell paying your father back for what he did to you? Aren't you abusing yourself as much as your father could only hope to have abused you? Every time you think to yourself that you're a stupid, no good, loser, piece of shit, you are replaying the abuse of your father all over again except it happened 20 years ago. How is robbing yourself of a happy meaningful life proving your father wrong? Or are you proving him right? Is it working? Doesn't look like anything that you're doing is working to me. Then, they get it.
Forgiveness is about moving forward, beyond, from the past; not forgetting it, but learning from it.
How do we forgive?
It seems like to a lot of people forgiveness means; something that hurt me is okay, it make what someone did to me okay, it's a stamp of approval, it means they got away with it, it means that they aren't being held accountable for it anymore; that they will do it again to someone if I stop punishing them for it, that I'm giving in and accept that what they did to me was right, okay, not a problem, acceptable, that I'll forget what happened to me and it will happen again and I can't let that happen, that I'm weak, vulnerable, and scared. I think that about covers it. That's what I've heard from many, many, people from crack whore's and drug dealers, to moms and dads, paranoid schizophrenics, to 17 year old girls, and 45 year old singers.
The truth is; forgiveness means nothing of the sort. Forgiving someone isn't about the other person; it's about me. It's about my feelings, attitudes, behaviors, life, needs, wants, anger, joy, rage....it's about me. It's about letting go of the pain, letting go of having to relive the painful experience over and over and over again. It's about gaining true control over my life - not just being a control freak trying to do the undoable which is to control everyone and and everything, but that's another post.
Think about it. Someone does something that hurts me. Let's say I was abused as a child. Emotionally abused, mentally and physically abused by a parent. Let's say it was my Dad. It all happened when I was about 5 years old, until I was about 12 or so when I got big enough to fight back. I was ashamed of being abused. I couldn't tell a single living soul. Let's say that Dad would always tell me I'm stupid, worthless, dumb, fucked up, screw up, can't do anything right. I started to believe it. He would remind me that he wished I was never born, hated the day I was brought home, hated my mother for getting pregnant in the first place. I was the dark sheep of the family. The loser. The one who just could do no good. I started to act like it. If I did something wrong I was beaten with a belt, or spanked, as he called it. I would strip down to my underwear alone in my room and wait for him to come and hit me with his belt as many times as he felt I needed. I felt embarrassed and ashamed. It was humiliating. Everyone in the family knew. My other brothers and sisters. They all knew. We talked about it; but told no one else. Mom? She knew too. She'd even stop him when my screaming got too loud and she thought he had crossed the line. It was too little; too late.
Sound familiar?
Fast forward. I'm not 35 years old, I hate my job, my wife and I argue constantly, I got married because I had to (she got pregnant); not really because I wanted too. I'm not a happy person per say, I drink quite a bit. My dead end job isn't what I wanted because I had to drop out of school when my wife got pregnant. I'm overweight, smoke, and have a really hard time looking at myself in the mirror. I'm kind of a doormat in that takes a lot for me to get upset and do or say anything about something to anyone. I can fall asleep on a dime; but can't stay asleep for long. I can't afford to lose my job so I let my boss take advantage of me. My wife uses words like loser, wimp, coward, to describe me during our fights. Our fights haven't gotten really physical but I have pushed her and shoved her away from me. Oh, and if you mention my father I say something like, yeah, he was rough on me as a kid, but I'm over it. It's no big. My mother is a hero. She can do no wrong. She saved me. People say we are as close as a mother and son should be. I have no anger towards her at all.
No big? Over it? I've heard it dozens of times. When I mention forgiving the father I usually get a strong reaction of either shut the hell up, that's ridiculous, or are you kidding me? Then I ask, how is treating yourself so badly and living a life of hell paying your father back for what he did to you? Aren't you abusing yourself as much as your father could only hope to have abused you? Every time you think to yourself that you're a stupid, no good, loser, piece of shit, you are replaying the abuse of your father all over again except it happened 20 years ago. How is robbing yourself of a happy meaningful life proving your father wrong? Or are you proving him right? Is it working? Doesn't look like anything that you're doing is working to me. Then, they get it.
Forgiveness is about moving forward, beyond, from the past; not forgetting it, but learning from it.
How do we forgive?
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
The Past....
A family member (someone whom I have had a very tremultuous relationship with) sent me a text this past New Year's Day that I've been thinking a lot about. The gist of the text was that they felt it was time to "leave the past behind us," or, "forget about the past." What has been a 40 year trip down one hell of a bad road was now to be "forgotten?" That got me thinking.
I've had many clients come into my office and tell stories of how they were hurt, deeply hurt, by someone in the past. The event may have happened minutes, days, years or decades ago, but it still "hurt." It was still affecting them in some way, shape or form. How they dealt with it, or didn't deal with it, is what would ultimately bring them into therapy.
Many times they would relate the story of how family members would say, "forget about the past." "You must forgive and forget." That kind of thing. I hate it. I absolutely hate that expression. I think whoever invented it must have caused tremendous pain to other people in their lives. As it strikes me as being the perfect out, escape, get out of jail free card if you will, to deal with the pain that they have caused others throughout their lives. What healthy person who is recalling a happy memory says, "Oh, forget about the past. It's behind us.?" No. Not in your right mind. But, yet, we should forget the negative past? Not so fast.
First of all how does someone forget something that happened? You just forget that you were abused, neglected, hurt, abandoned, angry, alone, frightened, taken advantage of, raped, molested? Yep, that's what people would have you do to cope with it; forget it ever happened? If only it weren't that easy. It's not only not easy; it's asinine.
Don't get me wrong, I'm all for not letting the past effect our lives today. I'm all for remembering the past and learning from it. If we forget something how do we learn from it? I don't think we can. That's why I think it's important to remember, honor, cherish, and recall the past most every day. The past is the past. It happened. It shouldn't be forgotten. It shouldn't be thrown away as thought it never occurred. What happened; happened. It was real. The feelings were real. What was said, done, not said or not done was real. It really happened. Don't let some asshole that caused you pain tell you to forget it. That's what I'm saying.
My text back to my family member was that yes, I agreed we should start anew, but that I wanted us to stop reliving the past; not forget it. That's what is so difficult for me to do. How do I forget the past and let go of it when I, and others in my life, keep reliving it by making the same mistakes over and over and over and over again? How do I forget the past when I keep living and making choices as though I'm still the 14 year old kid who's father said, "you're an asshole, you're nothing, you're a piece of shit and I wish you were never born?" That's what one of my clients was doing. He was rageful at his father. Hated the man. But, in session, he would say he loved his father. He was still treating himself as though he hated himself. But, he had "forgotten" the past. "Left' it," behind him. No. Sorry. Every time he would talk about himself he would find something to pick at, some flaw, something that he saw as wrong. I finally asked him one day during a session, "how are you not reliving the past with your father when you say things about yourself that only your father would say?" He seemed to admit that I had a point; but sadly, he never came back.
I think it's imperative to forgive others for what happened in the past; including if not most importantly, ourselves. But forgiving isn't about forgetting. Forgiving is moving on and moving forward; letting go. Forgetting is called amnesia. I used to call forgiveness the "F" word in groups because people used to go ballistic when they heard it. But, I'll do another past about forgiveness. It's a whoooole other story.
And so it goes....the past. Learn from it, don't run from it. Remember it, honor it, cherish it, change yourself as a result of it in a powerful, positive, way. If we forget the past, someone said, I think this is what they said anyway, then we are doomed to repeat it.
In the end my family member said she couldn't agree more with what I had said. Now let's just see if we can truly stop reliving the past. It sure ain't easy.....
I've had many clients come into my office and tell stories of how they were hurt, deeply hurt, by someone in the past. The event may have happened minutes, days, years or decades ago, but it still "hurt." It was still affecting them in some way, shape or form. How they dealt with it, or didn't deal with it, is what would ultimately bring them into therapy.
Many times they would relate the story of how family members would say, "forget about the past." "You must forgive and forget." That kind of thing. I hate it. I absolutely hate that expression. I think whoever invented it must have caused tremendous pain to other people in their lives. As it strikes me as being the perfect out, escape, get out of jail free card if you will, to deal with the pain that they have caused others throughout their lives. What healthy person who is recalling a happy memory says, "Oh, forget about the past. It's behind us.?" No. Not in your right mind. But, yet, we should forget the negative past? Not so fast.
First of all how does someone forget something that happened? You just forget that you were abused, neglected, hurt, abandoned, angry, alone, frightened, taken advantage of, raped, molested? Yep, that's what people would have you do to cope with it; forget it ever happened? If only it weren't that easy. It's not only not easy; it's asinine.
Don't get me wrong, I'm all for not letting the past effect our lives today. I'm all for remembering the past and learning from it. If we forget something how do we learn from it? I don't think we can. That's why I think it's important to remember, honor, cherish, and recall the past most every day. The past is the past. It happened. It shouldn't be forgotten. It shouldn't be thrown away as thought it never occurred. What happened; happened. It was real. The feelings were real. What was said, done, not said or not done was real. It really happened. Don't let some asshole that caused you pain tell you to forget it. That's what I'm saying.
My text back to my family member was that yes, I agreed we should start anew, but that I wanted us to stop reliving the past; not forget it. That's what is so difficult for me to do. How do I forget the past and let go of it when I, and others in my life, keep reliving it by making the same mistakes over and over and over and over again? How do I forget the past when I keep living and making choices as though I'm still the 14 year old kid who's father said, "you're an asshole, you're nothing, you're a piece of shit and I wish you were never born?" That's what one of my clients was doing. He was rageful at his father. Hated the man. But, in session, he would say he loved his father. He was still treating himself as though he hated himself. But, he had "forgotten" the past. "Left' it," behind him. No. Sorry. Every time he would talk about himself he would find something to pick at, some flaw, something that he saw as wrong. I finally asked him one day during a session, "how are you not reliving the past with your father when you say things about yourself that only your father would say?" He seemed to admit that I had a point; but sadly, he never came back.
I think it's imperative to forgive others for what happened in the past; including if not most importantly, ourselves. But forgiving isn't about forgetting. Forgiving is moving on and moving forward; letting go. Forgetting is called amnesia. I used to call forgiveness the "F" word in groups because people used to go ballistic when they heard it. But, I'll do another past about forgiveness. It's a whoooole other story.
And so it goes....the past. Learn from it, don't run from it. Remember it, honor it, cherish it, change yourself as a result of it in a powerful, positive, way. If we forget the past, someone said, I think this is what they said anyway, then we are doomed to repeat it.
In the end my family member said she couldn't agree more with what I had said. Now let's just see if we can truly stop reliving the past. It sure ain't easy.....
Monday, January 4, 2010
Parenting....
I have no idea why I'm blogging again, but it wasn't my idea. It was my partner's. So, if you don't like what you see, read, whatever here; blame him! We were watching the movie "Julie and Julia" and he turned to me and said, "you should start a blog." "Why?" I asked. "Because you have strong opinions about everything and you do a lot of interesting things." "Oh," I said. "Like what?." "Well," he hesitated, "you're a gay dad, a stay at home gay dad right now because of our son, you are a writer (I published a book a little while back so I guess that makes me a "writer." Whooopee!" You'll get used to or begin to loathe my sarcasm), "And," he continued. "You always have a lot to say about a lot of things. You're job is interesting too and, well, you have a lot to say about being a parent." So, I interpreted that as you are a bored stay at home gay man who has a lot to say to me that I don't necessarily care to hear all the time so shut up and share it with the world or whoever is interested or whoever comes first!
So there. Here it is. Right now. Okay.
Parenting sucks. That is my first opinion. Why anyone wants to do this I don't know, but I do know that I have two kids. A 6 year-old and a one month old. One we call "boots boots" and the other is "fuss pot." Nice, huh? Cute? Not so much. Did I say parenting sucks? Well, it does.
Why? It's the hardest, most thankless, most confusing, most frustrating, most enjoyable, most idiotic, most fuckupable, most therapy ridden, ride from hell and it doesn't help when you don't have a clue what you are doing. Everyone else looks like they have a clue. Don't they? Nothing makes me feel more inept, out of control or more stupid than being a parent. I see other people with their kids, mostly moms, and they are all cooing and ooing and ahhing and how how wonderful being a parent is. It is? When? When does it start being wonderful? Did I miss that coupon? When do I get one? Who has them? Who gives them out? Tell me! I think people lie about being parents and about how wonderful and joyous it is. It's one of the biggest lies I think I ever really believed. Why can't people just be honest and admit that at one or more or several or every single waking day they have thought of secretly dropping their loving kiddos at school and then running the fuck away? Throwing them out the window? Forgetting them at the mall? Dropping them off at Grammy's house and then taking off like a bat out of hell?
Don't even get me started about babies. When women see a baby it's sheer.....I don't even know. People, most always like 100% of the time it's women, go nutso bonko's over babies and I don't have a clue as to why. Babies are the ID of life. They scream, yell, holler, poop, pee, then scream, yell and holler more. Then, if you're lucky they go to sleep for about 3 hours. If, that is, you're lucky. Once you're done running around like a lunatic the minute they begin to fuss, then feed them, burp them, change them, burp them again, feed them more, then fuss over the burp that's stuck, whipe the puke off your arm, shoulder, from your hair, from your cats hair. Then it's time to put the loving adoring baby down to sleep. Right? Wrong. Then it's time play let's figure out why they are fussing!!!! Oh, it's pure hell! Let's try to figure out why something that can't talk, see that well, who's hearing is probably for shit, who is curled up like a ball is squawking and making noises that make my brain bleed! Sounds like fun doesn't it? Trust me; it ain't.
The first child was nothing. I remember someone saying to me that I'd see when I had my second child and how my attitude towards parenting would change. With my daughter it was all about comfort, joy, peace on earth, and good will towards pampers. I loved the diaper genie, took photo after photo after photo that only I could stand sitting through over and over and over again, I read books, went online, read magazines. All to be the perfect parent! The parent that is always available, has a smiling, happy, cooing baby, who never ever fusses (that's sign number one of being a bad parent you know? Fussing! No fussing babies!) Gag me. I researched, and read, and talked and talked and talked about her to other parents. I compared her to other kids like any doting daddy would. She was smarter, faster, prettier, nicer, meaner, bossier, than any child in pre-K! Her drawings were like Picasso! She was gifted I tell you! Gifted. How in the world an I possibly make her more comfortable? Cuter? Stronger? Faster? Smarter? The Wiggles? No! No! It was Baby Einstein! Yes! Baby Einstein! Are you happy darling? Is there anything I can get you shnoockums? Now, it's like this. He's fussing again! Again? I just fed him! It must be a burp that's stuck again! Where's that damn binkie? Okay, hold your pants on, it's coming! Here, if you stick your hand in your yap you can self soothe for a minute, or two. Oh for God sakes another bubble? Burp again? Okay fuss pot off to bed! Oh, he's awake again? Can you walk yet? Feed yourself? Shouldn't you be in college right now?
Yes, it's a world of difference.
So, I am for now, a domesticated God. I was a wild boy at one time in my life. Running around town with boy after boy living the life of a crazed bachelor in NYC (well, okay, not really. I actually grew up in a very small town, was a closeted homo for a long time, lived in NYC for two years during which time I was celebate, then met the man of my dreams and moved to Upstate, New York. Now it's 21 years later). Then I became domesticated. I fell in love. Got hitched (although not legal in NY yet!) and started to have children. Sounds like a dream really. Yes, a dream. A happy dream that brings a smile to my face. It's like living in the land of Oz. Sunshine, rainbows, love, soft music playing, slight breeze in the air, hair flowing a long beside me, running along a beach. That's exactly what I thought this morning when I caught a glimpse of myself at 3:30am after having awoken to the sounds of a screaming baby swinging nearby. My hair all matted, three new zits formed on my temples, ginormous bags and dark, dark, chocolate circles under my eyes, a big puke stain on the front of my shirt, my sagging underwear from gaining and losing 25 pounds the past year, and my lovely breath that could kill on impact. Trust me; it wasn't a pretty site. My first and only thought at that very moment was....I now know why some animals eat their young. Just like on Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom! The lion and the tiger lick and paw at their young, play with them in the field, run with the Gizelle's, drink at the family waterhole, gaze into the reflections of each other in the water, and then when times get really tough they eat them! Troubles be gone! Poof!
And that's the way it is. For now. Until next time....oh...and guess who's fussing?
So there. Here it is. Right now. Okay.
Parenting sucks. That is my first opinion. Why anyone wants to do this I don't know, but I do know that I have two kids. A 6 year-old and a one month old. One we call "boots boots" and the other is "fuss pot." Nice, huh? Cute? Not so much. Did I say parenting sucks? Well, it does.
Why? It's the hardest, most thankless, most confusing, most frustrating, most enjoyable, most idiotic, most fuckupable, most therapy ridden, ride from hell and it doesn't help when you don't have a clue what you are doing. Everyone else looks like they have a clue. Don't they? Nothing makes me feel more inept, out of control or more stupid than being a parent. I see other people with their kids, mostly moms, and they are all cooing and ooing and ahhing and how how wonderful being a parent is. It is? When? When does it start being wonderful? Did I miss that coupon? When do I get one? Who has them? Who gives them out? Tell me! I think people lie about being parents and about how wonderful and joyous it is. It's one of the biggest lies I think I ever really believed. Why can't people just be honest and admit that at one or more or several or every single waking day they have thought of secretly dropping their loving kiddos at school and then running the fuck away? Throwing them out the window? Forgetting them at the mall? Dropping them off at Grammy's house and then taking off like a bat out of hell?
Don't even get me started about babies. When women see a baby it's sheer.....I don't even know. People, most always like 100% of the time it's women, go nutso bonko's over babies and I don't have a clue as to why. Babies are the ID of life. They scream, yell, holler, poop, pee, then scream, yell and holler more. Then, if you're lucky they go to sleep for about 3 hours. If, that is, you're lucky. Once you're done running around like a lunatic the minute they begin to fuss, then feed them, burp them, change them, burp them again, feed them more, then fuss over the burp that's stuck, whipe the puke off your arm, shoulder, from your hair, from your cats hair. Then it's time to put the loving adoring baby down to sleep. Right? Wrong. Then it's time play let's figure out why they are fussing!!!! Oh, it's pure hell! Let's try to figure out why something that can't talk, see that well, who's hearing is probably for shit, who is curled up like a ball is squawking and making noises that make my brain bleed! Sounds like fun doesn't it? Trust me; it ain't.
The first child was nothing. I remember someone saying to me that I'd see when I had my second child and how my attitude towards parenting would change. With my daughter it was all about comfort, joy, peace on earth, and good will towards pampers. I loved the diaper genie, took photo after photo after photo that only I could stand sitting through over and over and over again, I read books, went online, read magazines. All to be the perfect parent! The parent that is always available, has a smiling, happy, cooing baby, who never ever fusses (that's sign number one of being a bad parent you know? Fussing! No fussing babies!) Gag me. I researched, and read, and talked and talked and talked about her to other parents. I compared her to other kids like any doting daddy would. She was smarter, faster, prettier, nicer, meaner, bossier, than any child in pre-K! Her drawings were like Picasso! She was gifted I tell you! Gifted. How in the world an I possibly make her more comfortable? Cuter? Stronger? Faster? Smarter? The Wiggles? No! No! It was Baby Einstein! Yes! Baby Einstein! Are you happy darling? Is there anything I can get you shnoockums? Now, it's like this. He's fussing again! Again? I just fed him! It must be a burp that's stuck again! Where's that damn binkie? Okay, hold your pants on, it's coming! Here, if you stick your hand in your yap you can self soothe for a minute, or two. Oh for God sakes another bubble? Burp again? Okay fuss pot off to bed! Oh, he's awake again? Can you walk yet? Feed yourself? Shouldn't you be in college right now?
Yes, it's a world of difference.
So, I am for now, a domesticated God. I was a wild boy at one time in my life. Running around town with boy after boy living the life of a crazed bachelor in NYC (well, okay, not really. I actually grew up in a very small town, was a closeted homo for a long time, lived in NYC for two years during which time I was celebate, then met the man of my dreams and moved to Upstate, New York. Now it's 21 years later). Then I became domesticated. I fell in love. Got hitched (although not legal in NY yet!) and started to have children. Sounds like a dream really. Yes, a dream. A happy dream that brings a smile to my face. It's like living in the land of Oz. Sunshine, rainbows, love, soft music playing, slight breeze in the air, hair flowing a long beside me, running along a beach. That's exactly what I thought this morning when I caught a glimpse of myself at 3:30am after having awoken to the sounds of a screaming baby swinging nearby. My hair all matted, three new zits formed on my temples, ginormous bags and dark, dark, chocolate circles under my eyes, a big puke stain on the front of my shirt, my sagging underwear from gaining and losing 25 pounds the past year, and my lovely breath that could kill on impact. Trust me; it wasn't a pretty site. My first and only thought at that very moment was....I now know why some animals eat their young. Just like on Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom! The lion and the tiger lick and paw at their young, play with them in the field, run with the Gizelle's, drink at the family waterhole, gaze into the reflections of each other in the water, and then when times get really tough they eat them! Troubles be gone! Poof!
And that's the way it is. For now. Until next time....oh...and guess who's fussing?
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