Welcome to my asylum for ideas and thoughts on movies, politics, culture, and all things Bruce Springsteen.

Monday, September 20, 2004

Will To Power

Not to worry; this will not be the site of mushy, baby-pee pee-happy stories, but I would like to be able to record my thoughts about my little boy who enriches my life daily. This last week and a half has been wonderful but truly crazy. Going back to work last week was suicidal. Burning the candle at both ends; I was getting less than four hours of sleep a night and one morning I thought that I'd be Mr. Natural and forego the caffeine. Obviously counterproductive, I felt like I was teaching with a five-Guiness hangover. Juicing up every morning since, I now can be conscious, awake, alert, and extremely strung out on a drug so potent that the FDA needs to regulate in order to keep the populace of the United States from becoming crack fiends over Starbucks. God bless the cacao bean!
Will is awesome. His little cries, the way he looks at his mom when she nurses him, the way he looks when he sleeps. God's little miracles in one tiny little baby. It's made me a tad introspective, as births normally do. I won't begin to prattle off platitudes and cliches here, but I have found myself especially drawn to the music of John Lennon these last seventeen days. I was in New York City six months ago and made the effort to see Strawberry Fields and the Dakota Building. Those two sites opened up childhood wounds on an adult level, as I clearly remember the day Lennon was shot and killed. My memories are not based on collective memory or story or rehashed video clips from cable or music networks. My mom raised me to be a Beatle fan and I grew up as a young child watching The Beatles cartoon and listening to Meet the Beatles on lp. Even at the age of seven and first learning of Lennon's death, I felt an absence in some sort of larger way. I guess like when you learn that Lincoln was killed or the first time the Easter story is told to you.
Six months ago, my brother and I stood at the entrance to the Dakota and I wanted to weep for a man; not one who was a cool rock and roller or a pop icon, but a man who loved his young boy and would never see him grow older, go to school, fall in love, discover life, and grow to share adulthood with. My wife was three months pregnant at the time and even then I grasped the magnitude of my attachment to my child. Today, I play the music and look into my son's eyes realizing that every minute is a gift and how I spend it can help further determine the life of my boy. Thanks, Will, for helping remind me of the depth, beauty, and fragility of life. Let's just sit and watch the wheels go round and round and enjoy each other's company while we're at it.