#297

As an instructive and meticulous parent, I am negligent at times. Yeah, as they say, shocking. For some reason – laziness, faith, a conscious choice, my propensity to people-please – I never batter M 'n' m with do's, don'ts, reminders, warnings, and tips. I'd say some dads overdo it, and some under-do it (like me), and then there's a guy in Switzerland or wherever who gets it right, a shining, perfect father. But he's the only one. And I'd say, regarding my laxity, extreme matters of behavior and safety are excepted, and basic expectations are clear. (Be polite, positive, and productive. Period. Megan's politeness is generally lacking, but I'll indict myself for that later.) Indeed, the daily, common-sense, little things I fail to monitor and illuminate can brew into catastrophe, literally. My example? Michael's laundry basket. It's just gross and scary to begin with; he's a teenager now, 6' and 150lbs, and no one like that has laundry undeserving of a Jolly Roger or a hazmat warning. It's poison, dude. I should make him dump his own laundry in the machine, but he's a millennial, and they don't do shit. (That's just a wink to common generational criticism.) So I grabbed Michael's laundry basket and it felt heavy. I pulled some clothes out and discovered a kind of wet-towel sandwich. A 'wrap,' actually, chicken Caesar, buffalo chicken, you get it. Although it was covered, so maybe a Burrito suizo? Sorry. Thankfully, no black mold yet and only the beginnings of some fantastic aromas. I barked at him, but he's been traveling, I've been traveling, excuses, excuses. It was a teaching moment, although he already knew better. We'll see if it happens again. It probably will.

More about teaching moments: Yesterday, it was a thousand degrees outside so I decided to edge our sidewalk on hands-and-knees with a knife. I just severed and pulled the spreading grass. I poured sweat, and no doubt smart guys do it standing up with expensive tools – yes, that's some low-hanging innuendo there – but the dumb part is actually how I cheese-grated my finger-flesh on the concrete and then ran inside and squeezed lemons. It's a fine acid. I was thirsty. Anyway, it didn't hurt as much as remind me of the time I was really dumb: I de-seeded my potted jalapenos and then took out my contacts. Holy Mother of God. And that – my searing eyeballs I mean – reminded me of the time I really hurt my eyes: I arc welded all night in college and caught too many flashes. Eyes heal fast but I still looked like Bob Marley's roommate for a few days; I could only manage the minutest bloodshot squint. The lesson? Make sure M 'n' m take care of their eyeballs.

"All writing, all art, is a wild leap off a cliff because there's nothing to support you, you're creating something out of nothing really, no one is telling you to do it, it comes from within." – Jhumpa Lahiri

"What the really great artists do is they are entirely themselves, they're entirely themselves and they've got their own vision, their own way of refracting reality, and if it's authentic and true you will feel it in your nerve endings." – David Foster Wallace