Robodad

In recent months, my wife’s grandmother had become weary of life. This was revealed by something she said to me at the beginning of it all, about six months ago: Old age is a curse, Aaron. and I don’t know why anyone would want to live forever.  You get tired, and your body breaks down.

She had been retired for some years, and had enjoyed reading and cross-stitching until her arthritis and poor vision made those few pleasures unattainable.  Then she did what so many old folks do when there is nothing to occupy their minds…sit by the window and obsess about what the neighbors do or don’t do…  Complain to all who will listen of her pains and aches.

The extended family had become annoyed with her complaints and pettiness.  I did not.  When we visited, we brought our children, her great grandchildren, to fill her empty rooms with their noises and needs and sniffles.  She glowed when we were there, forgetful of her pains.  I never saw the embittered old woman everyone else seemed to see.

At the time we had our talk about immortality, she could barely move around the house with the long and unwieldy oxygen tubes.   Over the next months, as her lungs grew weaker, she grew less capable of moving; even a few feet was a tiring chore.

Then came the fall which broke her back, and the subsequent surgery.  We all knew she needed a nursing home to help her recover. But the surgery did not help the pain, and her time at the home there was spent zonked out on painkillers - greeting visitors with head in hands and eyes closed, barely aware of the people who came to see her.

A few additional maladies and hospital visits later, it was obvious she was not healing.  She finally decided enough was enough, and she stopped taking food or drink.  Her frail and tired body began to shut down.  She had given the hospital orders not to resuscitate her.

Then they took her off the oxygen.

That night, my wife Ellen rushed to see her at the hospital.  Her grandmother could not talk, but her eyes moved, and her breathing was strained and gasping.  My wife talked to her for a long time that night in the hospital room.  She told her she loved her.  She cried.  She talked to her grandmother of the sleepovers they had together when Ellen was little, and her grandmother would put her hair in curlers and make her chocolate milk, and they would both sleep in those unbearably uncomfortable curlers.  Ellen talked about her favorite lullaby to sing to our son, and she sang it to her grandmother there in the hospital room.  Edelweiss.

That night, Ellen came home and cried and cried.

In the morning, we got the call that it had happened in the night an hour after Ellen left.

As I carried her coffin, I can’t help but think that she’s much lighter than I thought she’d be.

Rest now, Isabelle.

As I leave my office and enter the parking lot, I see that snow covers my car in a thick layer. I brush it off absentmindedly, my mind already working to figure out how much time the falling snow, still heavy in the air, will add to my commute. I figure it will take me two hours to get home. If I am lucky.

I sigh as I settle into the drivers seat. Damn.

As I begin the drive, my mind drifts. For some reason, today my mind goes back in time, and I remember her.

Surprisingly, I still think of her from time to time. You would think that after 16 years, I would have done a better job of moving on. But its not just her. Its that other one, too. Yes, her. And the others are still here, too. All funny, beautiful, smart, gifted. I wonder where they are now. How life might have been different if I had stayed with them.

These are the girls that I did not kiss.

Do you know that moment? When you both realize that a kiss is about to happen, and your mind screams at you to do it and not to do it, and you feel almost paralyzed. Somehow you realize your lips are touching and you think it is amazing and then you have to stop to tell the other person how amazing it is and they tell you the same thing and then you kiss some more?

Well, what happens if that kiss never happens? What happens if the guy changes the subject, or pretends that the moment never happened? What happens if the guy is too shy to make that simple forward movement of the head and neck? What happens if the guy is broken?

Eventually, each of the girls figured it out, and moved on. It gradually became evident to them that it would never happen.

As I look back, I tell them to give the young me another chance. I tell the young me to be ready for that moment, and to steel his nerves: when a lady’s eyes ask for a kiss, kiss her dammit. Not surprisingly, they can’t hear me, and my memory duly plays back the events as they occurred. The hurt looks, the gradually increasing emotional distances.

As I turn onto my street, the snow is still falling thickly, and it forms a white wall where my headlights shine. The snow blankets the ground and the plows have not been here yet. I cannot see the road’s lines; my car slips in protest here and there. But I have been here before and know her curves and hills by heart.

I turn into my driveway to see my house.  The warm light spills out of the living room windows onto the snowy ground. As I walk to the front door, I hear the familiar sounds of my children, the aroma of cooking food. I prepare to open the door to greet the girl I did kiss. By the time my hand is on the door knob, the other girls are gone from my mind, and I am wondering what is for dinner.

I’m sorry, but I have to say I support the president in his push to expand executive power, even beyond the limits of the U.S. constitution, or what the liberals call “reason.”

I truly believe that the president is above the law in all respects. He should have the ability to search and eavesdrop without warrants, detain people, U.S. citizens or otherwise, without presenting reasonable cause, and to torture anyone he likes without limits, even if it is just because he is having a bad day.

Only in this way can the president of the United States (POTUS) properly protect us from our most dangerous enemy: WHALES.

Those whales have been thumbing their noses at us for millennia. Ever since they slunk back into the sea, they have been all “look at me, I’m better than you, I have flippers,” and “look at my nostrils, they are on top of my head”.

And its not just the arrogance. Whales have been responsible for some of the greatest catastrophes in human history.

Whales have been known to cause tsunamis with synchronized tail movements, killing millions of people. Also, whale farts, in addition to causing global warming, can cause warm air movements that can trigger hurricanes and cyclones. Again, killing numerous people.

And it seems that whales have some special vendetta against the United States of America. Perhaps because it is we are a beacon of freedom for the world. Or perhaps it is because we are the only world power posing a threat to their ocean empire.

It is a scientifically proven fact that whales were responsible for the twin towers attack. Look into it if you don’t believe me: the information is out there, but nobody but me seems to have put it all together.

I don’t have proof yet, but I believe whales were responsible for the flooding of New Orleans. NASA satellite images show a mass under the surface of the Gulf of Mexico at the time. But since the image is dominated and obscured by the hurricane’s clouds, I cannot prove this conclusively. I suspect they were hoping to pull a common whale trick: flood the coastal areas with synchronized flipper movements, then eat those unlucky souls who wash out to sea (yes, babies and all).

Who knows what else those assholes are planning. In any case, our course is clear. Only by granting unlimited power to the executive branch can we fight this greatest of threats to our freedom, our way of life, and even our very lives.

The title of this post was an apparent search term that hit on my blog.

I thought that was one of the most beautiful phrases I have seen in a long, long time.

Here’s to you, anonymous web-surfer person. I hope she takes you far.

I see her across the room and she is Summer rain: warmth and moisture and life-giving energy.

And our seedlings (we have three) are jumping around me, climbing on me before I am ready, urging me to play. As always, I readily surrender and enter their world.

One minute I am a horse and they are rodeo riders, another minute I am a cat and they are mice who like to be tickled, and then I am the worst hide-and-seeker ever in the whole world, unable to find them in their painfully obvious hiding places.

While this happens, what they do not know…what they could never know, is that they are beams of light shining directly into the prism of my heart, refracting and filling me with rainbows. Until it hurts. Until I am lifted from the ground, however imperceptibly. Until I feel my eyes and mouth must be glowing.

I never knew love could be like this. Why didn’t anyone tell me?

I spend a lot of time driving in crowded rush hour conditions.  One thing I notice is that men are sluts with their eyes.

If she catches his eye, he will turn his head to look at her as he passes, his wedding ring and children momentarily forgotten.

I wonder if this happens a lot in public spaces:  men probing with their eyes; examining, prying, feeling women up, optically speaking.  I wonder whether women notice.  I wonder whether they mind.

So last night, I thought it would be funny to put her vibrator under her pillow before bed. I was disappointed when she did not notice right away. The kids would probably climb into bed with her in the morning after I left for work, so I fell asleep wonder how I was going to get it out of the bed in the morning without waking her up. Or, if I woke her up, how exactly the conversation would go.

Later, sometime in the middle of the night, I was awakened by a smartly delivered elbow in my ribs. “What the fuck is this?” she said in the dark, obviously annoyed.

“What?”, I asked, feigning surprise. “You mean the Dildo Fairy visited you tonight? Wow. Do you know what this means?”

“What?” she played along, trying to decide whether to hit me with it, I am sure.

“It means you will have an amazing orgasm tonight.”

“Yeah. Whatever. Put it back.”

This Monday and Tuesday, Mommy gets some time off. She is away with relatives, having some fun. Daddy takes a few days off of work to play Daddy Daycare to allow this to happen.

Last night, however, Daddy was not so smart, and had a little too much to drink. This morning, Daddy hates himself, and regretfully turns on the TV while he lies down on the couch and tries not to throw up.

Bad daddy.

So around 10 in the ol’ AM, there is a knock on the door, and I beheld two female Witnesses. Proselytizers. Spreaders of the Good News.

They were also youngish, and somewhat pretty. While they jabbered away about some guy named Jebus, my mind veered off course into fantasyland.

Now, I am sure that all guys have this fantasy, but I am a student of life, and I am compelled to write what I feel. Distasteful as it may be, I am inexorably drawn to reveal this fantasy to you, faithful readers…

I ask them if they would like to come inside for water, as the morning is rather hot. They readily agree, and I lead the way through the toy-strewn foyer into the toy-strewn living room. At this point, the offer of water seems to be forgotten (hey, it’s my fantasy), and one of them heads straight for the kitchen and starts washing the considerable pile of dishes,

The other takes me by the hand, and wordlessly leads me into the bedroom. Throwing back the covers, she pours me into bed. She silently exits.

As I drift off into sleep, I hear the sounds of dishes clinking, and my children playing meaningful and interactive games with the nice lady.

Later, I am awoken by the sound of a vacuum cleaner, and I smell a fragrant dinner being prepared. I think there is also the sound of my kids singing. Who cares if it’s about Jebus.

I am shocked into reality as the proseletyzer offers me a copy of her church’s publication. She does not offer to wash my dishes either.

Hey lady, I’ll bet Jebus would have washed my dishes. From what I hear, he was all about people being cool to one another. Washing dishes is cool.

In fact, I think that is a problem we face today. People getting farther and farther from the original messages from their religious founders. Siddharta, for instance, was completely against the idols presented by the Hindu priests in his native India. Now, idols of Buddha abound. And Jebus would have offered to wash my damn dishes as a way to try to convert me.

But these ladies make no such offer.

Kids were sick all week, and mommy had a hard time with the puking and the pooping. Now, mommy is sick, too, though I am not sure whether it is a real virus or a “somebody take care of me now”-disease. Today, she slept late, waking up near lunch to yell at us because we were too loud. Go back to bed, mommy! We don’t like the yelling!

Later, we all felt better enough to go to the local public pool (possibly infecting hundreds more! Yay!). I took the boy-toddler in the baby end of the pool, and the 3 girls of the family hung out together somewhere slightly deeper.

Sammy was thrilled to charge full speed in every direction of the sloping-bottomed baby section of the pool. I shadowed him within a few feet at all times, as he would often stumble, and I would pull him up, and he would charge off in a different direction, oblivious to all threats. I personally saved his life about 30 times. That boy owes me.

One of the features of this public pool is a set of 4 small fountains at the point where the sloping bottom gently rises up to meet the water’s surface. Water shoots about 3 or 4 feet into the air, and kids delight in running through the columns of water.

As we were leaving, I carried Sammy past one, and I paused to let him touch it. As we stuck our hands at the top of the water column, the droplets tickled our hands as they rose up, slowed, stopped motionless for a split second as they gently touched our palms, and finally crashed back to the water’s surface.

As I observed the droplets slowing and stopping near the apex, I imagined that time had stopped, and we were as motionless as those large globs of water I saw hanging in the air.  If those drops would never fall, would hang there forever, this moment would never end.  I would not have to take this boy home, I would not have to watch him grow up, or work 12 hour days while he did so pretty much without me, or argue with him over chores (assuming he learns to talk at some point), or take him to the emergency room when he inevitably hurts himself as children will do.

Today, what looked to all the world like a father and child sticking their hands in a fountain of water was actually a father once again coming to terms with the fact that, no matter how high we travel, or how brightly we sparkle in the sun at the apex of our journey, no matter who’s hand we touch, time sends us all crashing back into the pool.

As I looked ahead, mommy had moved on, and we needed to catch up.

1. I had to go to some store, perhaps an auto parts store, and I got there so early I thought they might not be open. But it turned out they were, much to my surprise.
   I went inside, and began browsing near the back of the store.Before long, I realized that someone was near the front of the store, robbing the place. The robbers were behind the counter, and they announced that everyone should come up to the front of the store and line up and give up their money.I had my paycheck in my pocket, and I did not want to give that up, so I put the folded
   paper in the dirt at the base of a potted plant, and brushed some dirt over it, and proceeded up to the checkout to give up my wallet.

   Along the way, I passed through a narrow opening between shelves, and one of the robbers was standing on the other side, hidden from my view. When I came through, he was startled, and he poked his shotgun at me and screamed that he was going to kill me. I pleaded with him not to kill me, as I was on my way to give up my wallet. He relented, and I proceeded to the front.

   I remember the very palpable fear I felt in the dream when I was confronted with the shotgun.

2. I was in Pakistan (for some reason), and I was walking through town. I was trudging through a grassy vacant lot when I head shots far in the distance. I looked across the grassy field at a road, approximately 100 yards away, where people were running away from the source of the trouble, which was invisible to me. All I saw was the running and screaming.I saw people running, and sometimes a part of their bodies would move in an unexpected way, as if hit by a bullet, and they would fall.I saw a tall skinny man running with his child, holding his hand. I saw the man’s arm suddenly make a motion forward that was not normal for his gait, and he fell. The child stopped and ran back to the father…I knew the child was screaming, but I could not hear him. The man got up and walked a few steps, and fell again. The child ran to him again, but the man did not move.

   At the time, I was an objective observer; as I type this, it affects me deeply. I also recall that I saw no faces in this part of the dream.

   Later, I went to the source of the previous trouble (as determined by the direction from which the people were running). I saw a large vehicle, like a bus, but wide like a ferry (it’s a dream, it doesn’t have to make sense). There was a front area of the vehicle, covered, and with seating and dining areas, and a rear area, open, but with seats on the side. Again, think “ferry”.

   In the back open area, there was a pile of bodies. I don’t remember seeing any of their faces.

   I climbed on board to investigate, and the vehicle started moving. A young man, possibly a student, was running to catch up. It looked like he was not going to make it, as he could not climb up the side carrying his backpack/bookbag, while running at that pace. So I went to the side on which he was running, and reached over the side and pulled him up by his upper arms. In the dream, it was effortless, as I would lift my children.

   Later, I went to the front of the “land-ferry” (or whatever), where I found white people dining and chatting. I struck up a conversation with a table, and soon sat down with them as they told me what had happened:

   The dead people on board had been killed by Pakistani military. The victims were regular civilians, doing regular civilian things on board, when they were rounded up and brought to the back and killed. Apparently, stray gunfire from this caused the deaths I saw earlier.

   My new acquaintances and I conjectured as to the reason that the people in the pile of bodies had been killed. The popular theory was that they were spies for, or otherwise affiliated with, terrorist groups.

I woke up drained and sad.