I recently watched a video of Gavin at an orchestra concert. Since he's been into the middle school thing he's doing, he wanted to be a part of the orchestra. He has since he was in elementary school. Chose it even. Wanted to be in the strings. After some kind of deliberation, he went with violin. The video I saw was him in his concert garb: black slacks and white button down shirt. He was up there on the stage where I was not and he played with the utmost professionalism. Serious. Intent. Beautiful.
I don't smile in pictures anymore. If you've got a head on you, you'll know why. Here's one of me and Uly-Bear. He's adorable. He's laughing. He's in his PJs. He's not yet realized the absolute magnitude of life.
I was in the store the other day. I was with one of the SpEd people I work with (for the final time as I've secured employment elsewhere) and I told the guy that as he browsed the DVD rack that I'd be out and about, looking at girlies and such. I left him in Electronics and went out to the flower section. I have a powerful love of cut flowers and I was mulling taking a batch home for A. I saw this one with two faces. I'd never seen one like that before and the Janusian nature of the bud spelled me. How had God made such? How had I witnessed thus? Why the fuck was I the only cogent being in the store snapping photos of this miracle?
A and I went out to lunch the other day. We frequented a Mexican place in Wasilla that I liked for pre-work beers and we had a wonderful time there. We fed our boy beans and rice and tamales and pico de gallo. There's something about him that makes all sorts of tumblers fall into place. I've been such a bad father to my other sons. I've fucked up so many things. I've overlooked Kiernan, my middle child. In all honesty I've ignored them all and continue to ignore them in all sorts of ways: writing, work, life, selfish shit, drinking, anything else.
I wish, for once, that I was good.
