Saturday, June 19, 2010

i woke up, again, from a disturbing dream, so i looked out the window to see if my older son was still home, or at least if his car was here; it was, and the street lights were whining into it in ghostly way, lighting up its light seats so that it actually looked like he'd left the interior light on, though he hadn't. i've been worrying about him a lot, though he's ok, i think; it keeps me up, times like now, and makes my days a little shaky too. it's very hot here, very steamy; it's no fun being outside, or even having aircon on full blast when you're just going across town. my goal for the weekend is let others do some of the driving; i'm hoping to spend some time with little guys who had to spend much of the week in daycare as their mom is out on the west coast taking care of her family. they know that we're all doing the best we can; they also are trying their best, but nerves get frayed.

thursday evening kicked off the sunset concerts (below) and were the blues, but they were at the university, which offers no play structure, and everyone was tired; they wouldn't share their treats with each other, and we had to go home early. i was angry, like i'd been robbed- but, in a way, going out and staying out was too difficult under the circumstances, too much to expect, and they're going to use just about anything to fight, or get out of a concert that they might not like as much as i do anyway.

today though i go over to the daycare to a little father's day lunch that they have; i'll post pictures if i can. we fathers are at little chairs with our children; they perform for us. mine brings me a small, homemade lightning mcqueen which i will also try to document. i'm important to him; i can see that; i want to stay that way, and wish fathering could be just the making of cars, as it once was for us, the countless times watching the cars movie and the patient reconstruction, documented somewhere here on this blog, by the way, of all the characters therein, and some of their garages and houses as well, done in cardboard, painted or colored. the older sons are the same; we had simpler times, good memories, things we can't or don't do anymore though now i must struggle to love them, be with them, still know them yet have a gentle hand or no touch at all on their actual coming & going; or at least, not be overbearing in the least, which would always certainly backfire. i pray for this kind of balance, a just-right kind of love that will get them through these kinds of times. writing this helps though, it wards off the bad dreams; it reminds me why i'm checking.

on the net i've become a restless traveler; i'll open up the online boggle, play a game or two, try to land in the first half (i've never been all that good); and give up. on twitter i'll go to haiku street (#haiku) and read whatever is coming down the pike; here i got the idea to go to news stories and just make them right out of the story. and i'm into the world cup these days, with its endless daily matches between the world's most hopeful players, so i wrote these:

the incessant drone / of vuvuzelas - the ball, / a mind of its own

and

huge twitter traffic / measured in tweets per second / world cup tsunami

which of course, like everything on twitter, or the internet in general, comes tumbling by in an endless stream, much of it, even mine, for sure, mediocre, 5-7-5 sometimes but very little else going for it. with these, there even is a compyright question, as they come right out of someone else's article really, although that person didn't intend to write internet poetry, for sure. it's comfort for me though, like a pebble in a pond, it makes me feel like i've put in my little thing, and i'm not sure if anyone wades through #haiku looking for anything good or not; i do know that some people occasionally "retweet"...being "retweeted" could, i suppose, be a sign that your poetry is at least read; something to aspire to, maybe?

at the cesl game day we'd hoped for lots of students, lots of board games, but only one even came; this poor guy has been in cesl a long time, i think. but a baby was there, a very young one, and i got to hold him; i held him for quite a while, got him to smile and laugh, in a baby way, and even got him to fall asleep, which i know he would only do when comfortable. we were buddies; we got along fine. it was interesting, that he could be so unable really to even talk, and yet communicate so much, in a running stream, with big eyes, expressive face, an eternal kind of wisdom. and quite generous with it too; he wasn't particularly concerned that he'd never met me before; he seemed to know me right away. and when i said goodbye, he smiled again; this was a baby who had by all accounts just learned to smile. i am aware, i know, i'm graced, that this could happen to me, that i could do this rather than actually be in the game, which i had no concentration for, at all. the clock above us was an hour fast - this is somewhat typical for our building - yet i believed it completely; time has been getting away from me a little, so many things undone, so much going on, yet times like this, late at night, when it crawls, second by second, a deep silence, and only a hope that people are getting real and refreshing sleep.

getting into a car, on an unshaded lot, this time of year, is like walking into a heat wave, the seats burning, the steering wheel hot to the touch, even if you've left the windows cracked or even wide open; you have to clear the air of melting compost smells and somewhere, halfway across town maybe, the car becomes habitable as the aircon catches up and neutralizes the feeling of cooked upholstery and car junk; it's worse for the kids, of course, who have no control over when the car is turned on, how high the aircon is, how long they must sit there, etc. even alone, i'm upset, this day; it seems the aircon can't do enough to ease the burning hell i feel from knowing about the suffering of young people, which seems so unfair, sometimes. at the daycare, given the lightning mcqueen, i start crying, unexpectedly; i can't stop it. the other fathers, i'm not sure if they even notice; if they did, they looked away. the car is classic; it has hand-painted smile, red and black, little hand-shaped wheels; it will live forever, on my shelf, in my heart, or here perhaps (whatever happens to blog posts?) - but immortality isn't the point. the point is, he said it, made it, colored it with his own hand; he was guided, maybe, or they suggested it to him, but he did it willingly, and gave it straight up. the other son too: a pennant with painted hand-prints and a happy father's day on it. at this daycare i have to remind them that they were making them, to give away to us fathers, and i happened to know this from the previous day, when they weren't quite ready to let go of them, but today they'd not only lost them but even forgotten to find them and give them quick, before i was gone for the weekend. maybe something had happened; some family tragedy that they weren't free to divulge, but they looked as ragged as i was, and i shared a little of what i was going through; i'm sure we aren't the only ones trying to process difficult times. and i'm sure also, in the big picture, father-son or father-child relationships aren't all full of the shining moments, the glow, that hit me today. one father, even as he held his daughter on his lap, continued texting, essentially doing his job; he was there, though, saw the performance, and received her gift, i'm sure. if you were there, a lot, eyes wide open, you'd see a lot, but i'm not - i see it only from my own eyes. and from here i'll say: happy father's day to all; it's a multi-day holiday, one that starts even on friday, and keeps on going, right through the day itself, when folks call, and right on through to next year. god bless you all.

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