I’m a Boy
Wednesday, August 20th, 2008
Lying on his stomach, stretched out length-wise over the pillow, the boy I’m looking down on is me. His hair is cropped in a bowl shape, and in the faint glow of the night light, its blondeness shines and reflects back white. At that age, we would have been twins though not identical, matched because of the similarity in hair and facial structure – the bubble-blowing cheeks – the blue eyes, the pursed mouth, and the attitude – all boy, all racecars and superheros, all sports and karate moves, just a whirlwind of flourishing kid with frantic arms and jumps from stairs, wrestling matches in the bed covers and couch cushions, and instant tamtrums at any loss and yet easy-going and loving, what I hope could be confused with a good soul. That was more than an hour ago. He’s fast asleep now in the same place, in this blue glow, and I’m about to join him in the dream world where I’ll be waiting one day for good, after my days are extinguished while his light still burns.
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Tags: Kids
Prison Time
Sunday, August 3rd, 2008
At nap time, the children come to think me the enemy – a vicious, vindictive warden that patrols the upstairs and peers in on them, dragging my billyclub across the door jam in intimidation.
I don’t actually carry a billyclub and it wouldn’t make difference if I did because they are hard-timers, familiar to my threats and not the least bit afraid of what will happen to them (generally, nothing.) They have been conditioned and toughened by sleeplessness, going without rest for years on end -for as long as … however old they are. (more…)
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Poolside
Sunday, July 20th, 2008
From one water entry to the next (fitting for July.)
Late now in the afternoon, the children have abandoned the inflatible pool in the back yard for darkened bedrooms with stirred air. They sleep beneath the constant whip of ceiling fans that beat them down to dreams with cool breezes. Their father, who has had them to himself this weekend, has decided to slip into the lukewarm water that acts as a conductor for electric cold when the wind finally decides to blow.
The trees have almost become petrified – only a few random leaves wave. The air-conditioning units outside the backs of houses sing louder than the robins and the other birds who dare return every year for summer in Kansas. No neighbors are out to see this strange spectacle, a grown man laid completely flat in a pool meant for a few toddlers and with edges painted with tropical fish and dolphins with trails of splashes behind them.
This is my 33rd summer here and it has suddenly become as brutal as ever. Mild June and ealy July have given way to this, the hottest day of the year so far, and fevered, strange behaviors from grown adults. One leg beaded with pool water hangs over the shallow ledge, pointing toward the back privacy fence. The other is submerged except for a big toe and is pointing the opposite direction. Sweat beads on my forehead at the hair line and gradually slips down my temlples, over my eyebrows.
Dogs that usually patrol the neighborhood fencelines now lie quietly in the shade of dog houses and overhangs too overheated to chase squirrels or passing people, if there were any. Outdoors has become a monolithic still life painting with front doors that will never open and sidewalks and streets that stay bare. I am moving, shifting weight in the akward pool with gimmick sides, but too low to the ground to be part of the scene.
A bird in the nearby trees has begun a slow, sad whistle and abruptly stops. There is no one to return his call. Just me, some overhead powerlines and circuit breakers shapped like trash cans.
The yard is empty without the children in an esoteric way much deeper than the absence of their screams and laughter. Two chairs have been overturned by the clubhouse. Three empty swings barely sway in the most powerful winds the day can muster. I’ll wake them up soon, if they haven’t already wakened, and they can have their pool back from the strikingly tall, dark and hopefully handsome bowl of fruit that steps out of the painting.
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Tags: Kids, Nature, Suburbia, Summer
Lake Swim
Saturday, July 19th, 2008
Farther out in the water, the waves gained momentum and considerable size, almost marching atop one another as they crested and glided from their secret source. With the twilight coming down it was easier for me to imagine these undulations as the scientists that study them do. Waves a half-foot tall were being pulled and stretched by the magnetism of the moon, tall and white in the sky and yet still not at its zenith.
The sun washed down the beach and the treelines behind us while we crossed into chopier waters. We were paddling with the children alternating from our backs to our arms. Caroline, the youngest, switched from holding tightly to my shoulders to bobbing along beside me in her florescent green life vest. She dared to pull away occasionally and spin in circles but never letting loose her hold with one hand. Immediately she pulled close to me when the water turned darker, more dangerous, and I could no longer touch.
A flash of anxiety shot through me. Waves with greater intensity made it harder to hold on to her. Then my reach found the floating marker that cordons off the beach area, separating the swimmers from the speedboats, erratic jet skis, and the hooks and fishing line of fishermen. Plastic tubing painted canary yellow has been set out in a great arching shape that connects one beach head to another. Not even the most inebriated boat captain could miss it. I wrapped both arms around the center of the yellow letter “C” and sat my feet atop a rockpile with sharp edges I traced with my toes extended. The water was more chaotic and filled with energy. Caroline and I began to bob and rock unwillfully. The jealous lake breakers waere determined to carry us atop their shoulders and deposit us at a much greater depth, but instead found us, two upright, obtuse figures that were too scared to move or drown.
Betsy was a body’s length away, which given the strength of the water might have well as been a whole cove, was struggling with my son Charlie, too. Her face was as panicked as mine, but she’d already begun her retreat to shallow water. In those few seconds I had looked away, the dardedevil on my back decided to shimmy her way down the divider, just far enough for me to grab her shoulder a little too roughly and pull her onto my back.
Dog paddling with her holding on, I struggled to make my way into shallow water – the water slapping against us until finally pushing us ahead to where I could walk again.
As we drive off, I see the place where we swam framed in the car window over my shoulder. I look out at the bar – at the spot where I held on – and remember the thrill that freightened me and the one the children were hopefully oblivious to, overwhelmed by fun.
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Tags: Kids
