August 31, 2006
There is something humbling in the devotion of a child. Something inescapable in the honesty of the admiration - something that my artistic insecurity cannot conjure an excuse to doubt. Something so real and raw and beautiful and innocent.
There is something humbling in the devotion of a child. Something inescapable in the honesty of the admiration - something that my artistic insecurity cannot conjure an excuse to doubt. Something so real and raw and beautiful and innocent.
I returned to nannying as I stumbled through dreaded part time jobs and recovered from my stint in unemployment. I figured it would be easy cash and something that would end within a year. Now it is entering year three. I finally have the job that pays and satisfies. But I cant leave. I cant give it up because those brown eyes will sadden and, yes, cry.
So is this the proverbial clock starting to purr and creep its way begrudgingly into my longing? Is that lifes cruel joke to make us turn on our most adamant resolutions? Or is it the thing that makes those dreaded Lifetime/ made for TV movies so damn appealing when the moon is in the right place in the sky? The right emotional tug to make my hard, Irish Catholic resolve melt itself into a dew? Is this a lesson smacking me in the face trying to say my X/Y generation angst against familial bliss is a bunch of BS? That, really, there is no job more gratifying, more surprising, more worthwhile than having a child in ones life?
Or is it simply the uniqueness of this one individual crossing my path, when I wrap myself up in a search for something meaningful in employment? And when that is solved, allow the vacancy of my thought to be consumed by the projects of my favorite community theater du jour? It is an amazing thing how swiftly the hours together pass - especially when I allow myself to be that kid within myself in his company. To forget the anxieties of my emotion and imagination and sense of reality. I dont have to be the parent and can slip into moments of child-like play and escape with him to the magnificent world of Delta and George Herman, where a man can live for 1,000 plus years and be a baseball superstar plus doctor plus rock genius (curious that Free Bird plays as I write this) plus master chef in one lifetime. I could never come up with the stuff he invents - no matter how much alcohol is involved in the booth! Is it just a pleasant distraction from the daily stresses or is this what is it the great mystery of parenthood, that as a self-satisfied singleton I claim to happily avoid?
The questions of my own motivation dont slow down the reality that life progresses so quickly. the very real fact that youth lingers so briefly and soon enough the innocence is gone with the distractions that seem so important. And, whether it is the approaching hum of that tick tock clock or just the overwhelming good fortune of our paths crossing, it is for me to relish the moments we share together describing the miraculous stamina of George Hermans 9,000 game season as well as his ability to achieve such glory with only one arm at age 105. The beauty of that perception of the world is brilliant. I envy it and appreciate its fond observance of me.
