Jun
22
I was having a Particularly Challenging Time with Dylan the other day and when we finally got him in bed for the night (lashed securely to his crib with canvas restraints as usual, the toddler-sized Hannibal Lecter muzzle fastened over his snapping, flesh-seeking jaws) I moaned to JB about how Riley hadn’t been this hard, had he? I mean, I definitely remember some difficulty around the 18-month stage, but my god, this is like raising a badger. A furious, unstable badger with nearly every symptom of a viral neuroinvasive disease: slobbering, abnormal temper, and acute cerebral dysfunction (what else can explain his hand-clapping joy at seeing the vacuum emerge from the closet, followed immediately by a bloodcurdling scream of pure terror after spotting the—DEAR GOD NO!—hose attachment? The delirious, lustful trance in which he devours fistfuls of macaroni and cheese one day, the howls of outrage upon having it offered to him the next? His propensity for flinging himself backwards to show his displeasure at accidentally bonking the front of his head on the table, only to roundly—and seemingly purposefully—smack the back of his head on the hardwood floor?).
Dylan’s temperament has not only led me to theorize about his future career opportunities (PETA activist, axe murderer, Blackberry-throwing supermodel), because surely this is all indicative of the difficult adult he will grow to be, but also in my darker moments wonder if in fact there’s something . . . you know, wrong. (“No, doctor, I can’t specifically recall him being exposed to the saliva of an aggressive bat, but perhaps it happened at daycare?”)
It just doesn’t seem like we went through all these exact brain-melting toddler idiosyncrasies with Riley. Diaper changes didn’t fill him with rage—why, he loved the changing table! He was picky, but he certainly didn’t smack spoonfuls of food across the room. He never ran crazily around the room weeping and rending his garments when one of his parents dared to pry the television remote from his fierce little grippy paws, for god’s sake.
I’d remember that stuff with perfect, pained clarity, wouldn’t I?
Well, according to this blog post, written by me when Riley was all of 14 months old, the answer is no.
Blind tantrumy staggering from one area to the next, accompanied by unending shrieks of fury? Check.
Food-smacking, diaper-protesting, toy-throwing umbrage? Check, check, check.
White-hot parental hatred triggered by removal of television remote? Fucking CHECK, and what IT is about the remote ANYWAY, we have EIGHT THOUSAND TOYS THAT FEATURE BUTTONS including OLD REMOTES and the only thing the kid wants is the one object that can permanently reprogram our TiVo to record nothing but DR. FUCKING PHIL.
I happened to re-read that entry only because of a recent incoming link and I was so stupidly relieved to hear my own words describing the multitudes of frustrations I was experiencing back then, I can’t even tell you. I immediately emailed it to JB, who wrote back, Buddha-like, “We forget the young Riley was once a great a-hole.”
I don’t know what this tells me. Maybe that it’s easier to remember the good moments, and cram the collections of bad ones into one generalized mental bucket (“That there year-and-a-half stage is a bit challenging, ayup”). Maybe that my memory is inherently faulty and that’s why I couldn’t tell you the difference between a numerator and a denominator if you paid me. Maybe that the children are slowly but surely liquidating and siphoning away entire cross-slices of my brain, one day at a time.
Whatever the reason, I’m just glad to know that if we are in fact raising a badger, at least we’ve done it before. Even though we clearly didn’t learn anything the first time around.
Jun
21
It’s been six years since I last had any contact with my father. He’s never met his own grandchildren. He may not even know they exist, but I think it’s far more likely he does. I think he probably sees them in the same way anyone else who visits this website does.
On this subject I have no generosity, no forgiveness, and no willingness to accept explanation. I don’t think about him much, but I hope it hurts to see what he’s missing. I hope with every photo, every word, every tiny glimpse into the lives he so easily cast aside, his heart weighs heavy with the knowledge of what could have been.
I don’t even have the words for how grateful I am that my sons have a father that is everything my own father was not. Their father is strong, selfless, committed, and most of all, he loves them with everything in his heart. Riley and Dylan will always be secure in the knowledge that there is nothing in this world that could cause JB to leave his children. They will be loved throughout their lives, and they will never know a day when their father will not be there to support them.
On this Father’s Day, I want JB to know what an amazing dad he is every single day of the year. I want him to know he truly embodies everything fatherhood should be. I want him to know how lucky I feel for having him by my side, and how blessed his children are for having him as their dad.
Father’s Day 2009 from Linda Lee on Vimeo.
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