There is an unreality to the passing of time when you're raising kids. An unevenness, or, actually, an avalanche of months and years; that's the best way I can analogize it for myself; the post-infant and -toddler time seems to have passed in a single, jumbled, rolling blast of moments. An avalanche. Now Michael is over six feet tall.
The early years dragged at times; there's a kind of bogging down in the constant care, supervision, naps, meals, diapers. Then they become a little self-sufficient and things must accelerate; it doesn't make sense how quickly time flew from then until now. Michael will be in high school. High school!
Michael asked if Chicago has jazz clubs. I've been to blues clubs – Kingston Mines is my favorite, recommended many years ago by a great friend – but I know very little about jazz. I think it's awesome, and refreshing, even if a bit eccentric (to a guy like me who doesn't even play an instrument) for my child to ask about jazz. I thought of mentioning Tales of the Jazz Age by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Other than Gatsby, however, I've only read bits and pieces of Fitzgerald, and though Gatsby could be the best novel ever, I should make sure my recommendations don't suck. Without a doubt, parents have a tenuous and finite amount of credit or capital – or credibility – so to speak, when making suggestions to their kids. I intend to use mine wisely.
From a documentary about the remarkable writer: "Fitzgerald moved to New York and got a job in advertising, but he didn't stop writing; he couldn't. Writing, even letter writing, was a vital part of what he needed to see in the mirror every morning."
"The little boy had wandered away from his mother, tacking across the grass toward the play structure. His mother watched him go, proud, tickled, unaware that every time they toddled away from you, they came back a little different, ten seconds older and nearer to the day when they left you for good. Pearl divers in training, staying under a few seconds longer every time."
— Michael Chabon, Telegraph Avenue
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