Delta Three

Dear J-

As long as the birthdates of Olympians and sports players were older than mine, I could rest easy: these were folks to look up to and set goals by, not to feel threatened by. Well, I’ve passed that point a while ago, and now the next measure is politicians, who, so long as they’re older, still get a measure of repect by default. Now that they’re starting to be younger, though, they’re starting resemble the stupid bunch of morons I’ve always suspected them to be.

I’ve been trying to reflect on what a father does through the day today, cheesy Hallmark holiday or not, and I’ve come up with a few answers (besides being the unreasonable screaming one): chauffeur, porter, photographer, chronicler, journalist, judge, attorney, advocate, prosecutor, investigator, policeman, president, janitor, teacher, student, builder, artist, demolition, buyer, briber, publicist, agent, mediator, logician, strategist, confessor, stylist (usually, if you’re anything like me, with laughable results), cheerleader, principal, disciplinarian, bodyguard, lifter, chef, medic, nurse, carpenter, poolboy. Well, in a typical day, I suppose.

The two kids would disappear for minutes at a time together today and reappear with smiles, announce something they’d need, and then disappear again amid mysterious giggles and excited shrieks. The power of the peer is a strange and magical thing to lead and be led, we are powerless before it. I watched figgy, who’s never held still during a word I’d read, sit fascinated for a good fifteen minutes as her cousin read to her. We’re already being pushed aside in the pantheon, but it’s hard to be everything, isn’t it? The strange feeling is change tonight, served three ways.



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