Twoodles

In a post called Hairbrainage, The Early Years I said "The nuts never fall far from the tree do they?"  I see more and more proof of that all the time, especially with N.

In the backseat of the truck, amongst the pretzel crumbs and juice boxes and candy wrappers and pages torn from the Magnifikids and workbooks, dry erase boards and markers, the boys have little sketch books to draw in or write stories.

For several days, on short trips, I noticed N working in his with intense concentration, I could tell because children actually have a concentration gauge, in their mouth, their tongues.  You remember right?  I still do it, when I use scissors.  Anyway, he finally deigned to show me it:

It's pretty cool, isn't it?  It took him a long time but, he stuck with his vision and finished up.

When I worked in high-end restaurants, every night we have a pre-shift meeting.  I would guess every line of work has the meeting where you need to look like you are paying attention, even if you don't care.  So, for years I just doodled in my little pad in my waiter book.  Even though all the other waiters knew what I was doing, the management always assumed I was taking meticulous notes on the special and the wine deals.  Whatever...

Years ago, probably eight or so, I left a place and was cleaning out my book.  I saw some of the doodles, and, for reasons I didn't know at the time but which have become delightfully obvious here, I saved a couple, here's one.

Yeah.  I don't care who you are, you have got to find that a little weird, eerie even.


I think the funniest thing anyone can do, besides saying the word "poop," is to put something on his head, anything, there is no way to fail.  I happen to have invented the twelve-pack-carton-hat in the early eighties in Athens, Ohio.  (You know what I am talking about, just open up one end and shove it on your head.  Hilarious.)

Here's another good example:

Haha.  That's funny.  Here's one from N:

Four hats!  Brilliant, comic genius.

So, here's the thing.  I suspect Nick thinks a lot like I do, has many of the same thought patterns and sensibilities as I.  Cool.  I guess I am forearmed, but should I tell him how things might get?  Should I forewarn him?

Should I tell him that pretty girls and sunsets will make him cry?

Should I tell him that waiting will infuriate him?

Should I warn him about the sudden joy that will engulf him when he meets his wife, or sings with a friend, or sees his own children, or watches squirrels chasing each other in the backyard of his youth.

Will he be clumsy with scissors and knives?  Should he know that string-trimmers will vex him all the days of his life?

Will he suffer loneliness and  feel misunderstood?  Should I tell him it will pass and he will better know joy and love having suffered them?

That bacon will make him weep and the taste of deep fried anything is perfect?

On the other hand, he already knows stuff that I won't have to teach.

He will sense justice and act to protect it.

He will know love is a verb, that action is the only way to love, or live.

He will innately understand beauty and art and words and food.

He will believe in God yet wonder if God believes in him.  Always.

Happiness will come slowly, quietly and will always be tinged with melancholy.

I know him now, so well, so painfully well.  I know my heart will break with his a thousand times.  I know I will laugh at his jokes and antics a million times.  I know it will be hard, I know that.

But, I know this journey we are all on, mine, his, yours, is always worth it.

I think I'll tell him that today.

From Marci's '...things you don't expect to hear from the backseat...'

During a very involved improv with rocket ships and ground controls:

"Don't blast off in to space yet!  I need to poop!"

So that's what all those NASA delays were...