Graduation Day

This was originally published on August 23, 2010, on my old blog.  I thought it was worth saving/sharing.  Enjoy.

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His first day of school starts in a few hours.  Brandon’s teacher, Mrs. Harrington, should be prepared to be bombarded with questions.  My son’s curiosity cannot be sated, his mission in life an interminable quest for new information to fill the sponge inside his 4 year old skull.   He’ll want to know all about his new classmates, want to know exactly what’s inside all those cabinets lining the walls, why the toilets in the bathroom are so small, ad infinitum.

The strange thing about all this is that I, his 40 year old father, the guy who usually has all the answers, is spending this night filled with more worry, doubt, and confusion than I’ve experienced since Brandon was taken away by the nurse for his first skull surgery at 9 months old (more on that in a later blog).

Some background -

When Brandon turned one month old, and his mom returned to work, I quit my full-time day job to become, in essence, “Mr. Mom.”  On the job training was the order of the day, a new dad learning to change diapers, decipher what each new sound and expression on his face meant, figure out at what age the little guy was ready to try new foods and which ones he could handle,   not to mention lots of laundry and chores around the house (I don’t claim to have been much good at the chores part, but in my defense I was also working a part-time job five nights a week).  I earned the equivalent of at least an associate’s degree in medicine, spending time with Brandon at most of the pediatric “-ologists” in town (for those keeping score at home: nephrologist, cardiologist, urologist, dermatologist, neurologist, and more), as well as countless visits to the pediatrician and several emergency room visits.

Now, however, all of that has come to an abrupt end.  Brandon will be in school from 8:00AM – 3:00PM, M-F.  Those hours and days that I spent teaching and learning are over.  He won’t be around to ask me any questions, and he likewise won’t be around to answer mine.

“What do you want to to do today?” Once we were both fully awake, too many mornings before 6:00 AM, that’s what I asked him,  and his answers never failed to lead us on an adventure.  Whether it was digging up long-lost army men in the dirt behind our house, searching every tree trunk on our street for cicada shells, spending more hours on a bike than I had since before I got my driver’s license, exploring every park and museum in Clark County, going to  a zoo I’d never once visited in my first 15 years living in Las Vegas, swimming in every public pool we could find, or scrambling up, over, and around rocks in some nearly inaccessible part of the desert, we did it.  Together.

And not just the exciting stuff, everything mundane was also done as a duo.  Grocery shopping, church, banking, visits to the dentist (his and mine), meeting visiting friends for lunch, always the two of us.

Which is not to say I’ve raised him “my byself” (that’s Brandonese, for the uninitiated).  Alison, my sweet girlfriend, has played a HUGE role in the past year and a half, all four of his grandparents have been amazing, and his mom has always been there.   But Mondays through Fridays, during the day, Brandon has been under my nearly exclusive providence.

- background over, back to the present

For once in my life, I think I can match my son question for question.

Now that Brandon’s days will be spent in school, with whom do I ride bikes?  Who’s going to  find every last beetle, spider, and pillbug in and around the house?  If I’m willing to pay the $7, can I still go to BounceU sans child and play/wrestle/slide/jump with all the kids there?  Can I safely traverse the aisles at the grocery store without a navigator perched at the end of my cart?

I certainly have enough around here to keep me busy.  The garage is 12 years overdue for a cleaning.  My office would inspire terror in all but the most stalwart professional organizer.  I’ve been juggling ideas for several books.  Eventually, a day job that makes sense will come along.  All too soon it will sadly feel like the norm to spend days without him.  Pages in the book of life can be recalled, fondly or otherwise, they can be ripped from their binding, they can be laminated and kept safe forevermore, but they must, inevitably, be turned.

To the graduates of the class of 2010, both of Dad University and Toddler College, congratulations.

Enjoy it, but not too long.  Grad school is calling…..

What Color is your world?

I'm taking part in the Indieink writing challenge (http://indieink.org).  This is my first effort.  I was given a prompt by Barb Black (http://blackinkpad.blogspot.com): "What color is your world?"

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The punch was perfect. 

I noticed his charge just in time, my peripheral vision catching just a flicker of movement, and all the torque my 19 year old body could muster drove my left fist into his right cheek, to devastating consequence.

Had it taken place in a professional prizefighting ring, the announcers would have gushed over my technique and power. Under those circumstances, the victim of my blow would have landed on a relatively soft mat, medical attention would have been immediate, and a full recovery would be expected.

Our confrontation, however, took place on an unforgiving concrete slab, a public park’s basketball court.  The odd angle of his descent meant that his skull hit the pavement first, making a sound that produced nausea in all present. 

The next sound I can recall with such unerring clarity is the voice of the jury foreman, a middle-aged Korean man:  “We, the jury, find the defendant guilty of the charge of involuntary manslaughter.”

My attorney hoped I’d be acquitted on grounds of self-defense. After all, I had been attacked, hadn’t I?  Harsh words and shoves had been exchanged following a hard foul, tempers were rising to match the triple digit temperatures, and I swung only because I felt I was in danger.

The D.A. didn’t get the manslaughter charge she was seeking, but she was convincing enough that I’d do time in prison. Involuntary manslaughter, even for a defendant like me with no prior criminal record, meant I’d be a guest of the state of Nevada for the next 36-96 months.

I was forewarned to expect a smell unlike any I’d experienced before, something like a combination of a high school football team’s locker room after August two-a-days and the elephant house at the zoo.  The putrid aroma hadn’t been exaggerated. 

Fortunately, the human body has ways of adapting to extreme conditions, and my sense of smell went into hibernation after a few days.  A vase filled with fresh flowers would smell the same to me as a ripe durian for the duration of my stay.  What I hadn’t expected was that the rest of my senses would follow suit.  All the food began to taste bland, despite all attempts to season it, my ears no longer registered the howls of the mad, and the color of my world became a rainbow of grays.

The sky never seems blue these days, just a drab amalgam of the most gloomy, cloudy, rainy days I can recall. 

The faces of people from your past, no matter how close or familiar, absent photographs, begin to fade over time.  The odd thing is, if you bump into an old friend or classmate, recognition can be instant, as if seeing them unlocks access to memories long forgotten.  I’m hoping the same holds true for colors.  When first I see a male cardinal, the red will be as bold as it ever was, the ocean as deep a blue as the days I spent splashing in it as a child, and when next I’m fortunate enough to stroll through a forest, I pray the leaves of the trees will fairly burst with green.

Cons with parole on the horizon all talk about what they’ll have for their first meal upon release, which food they crave above all others.  While I certainly look forward to all of my senses reawakening, it isn’t food, music, a scent (the smell of an old, dusty book, unopened for years, is a personal favorite), or even the soft skin of a woman.  It’s my eyes I miss most of all.  Vivid colors have abandoned me, and I want them back!