Dad Entry #153

Michael asked for a glimpse inside Papa Mike’s gun safe. This is a touchy subject, always, and especially following the unspeakable horror in Newtown. It’s too early to show him, but someday I’ll ask Papa to open ‘er up and have a moment with his grandson. We hunt and handle guns. Some awareness of them – and their use by militaries, hunters, our pioneering ancestors, and, frankly, criminals, gangs, and terrorists – is entirely appropriate for my children, in my humble opinion. I will teach them how to use guns, with extreme safety and not even the tiniest speck of glorification.

Michael and I listen to AC/DC to get fired up for his basketball games. "Back in Black" and "Thunderstruck" both trigger the urge to metamorphose into the Incredible Hulk, a little bit impossible for me, but a potent feeling nonetheless, and one Michael agrees is repeatable and powerful, when the guitars kick off, and the sound and energy lift us. I struggle with the impossibility of the Hulk’s pants (shredded perfectly into shorts that still fit), but I love the associated invincibility, the feeling I can run through brick walls, like high school athletes through decorated paper hoops held by cheerleaders. I wonder if high schools still do these silly – but memorable and important – things. Michael, possessing the heart of a young artist, likes the thought of being green-skinned more than tough-skinned (and able to plow through masonry and pound it to dust). To each his own.

Listening to Megan sound out words, and learn to read, is one of the great pleasures of my life. I appreciate the recitation and rhythm of sentences, their construction and variety; I like sentences that are blunt and crisp, and sentences that wander. And I like Megan.

Megan will stop in the middle of something - tying shoes perhaps, or eating – and just stare ahead, peacefully. Apparently I do this too (impossible for me to believe because I feel self-harried and riddled with anxiety so often), and if noticed in this state, I’m accused of going to “Planet Dan.” Megan spaced-out last night, and when she finally came back to us, she credited a voyage to “Planet Megan” for her absence. I can’t decide if Planet Megan, which I proudly announced must orbit Planet Dan, is a healthy and safe place, and not inhospitable or barren, entirely gaseous, volcano-covered, radiation-blasted, 800 degrees, and hammered by asteroids. Or frozen and grey. No, I think Planet Megan is restful and welcoming; I think it's a happy place.