Downstairs

Top of my list was to not do to my kids what was done to me. That’s very dire sounding, but it’s just a matter of perspective. It really comes down to respect. I was raised in a household where parenting was a fine balance between discipline and neglect. Again, harsh sounding. I would opt for neglect, frankly -- in fact, I continue to do so. The discipline would most likely be thought of as abuse, nowadays. Well, it was, in a way. It wasn’t the physical stuff. It was the reason behind it. Perfection is not a reasonable parenting goal, and for parents to try to work out their own issues by unloading them onto the kids -- well, that’s a sentence that doesn’t need to be finished.

I say this -- addressing the personal with a sincere rather than my usual ironic voice -- because I’ve been thinking, in a desultory way ... if that’s thinking at all ... about, well, about facebook. There’s someone there from elementary school, fer cripes sake. Junior high, high school. Never expected to even think about these folks again. And here they are, decades later, transformed and no doubt unchanged. No great revelation or insight in this fact. Just the small smile of additional perspective.

It’s just small talk. Something that I excel at, in reverse. You know what the word persona means -- but I’ll tell you anyway, inveterate heterodidact that I am. I just made that word up, in its correct meaning. You may use it. Persona means mask, the theatrical mask of the Greeks. I’m very Greek tonight. Even though persona derives from Etruscan. That’s practically Latin, practically speaking. How else would we even know about the Etruscans? C’mon, work with me. Point is, small talk. It's what fb is about, as far as I can see. On the other hand, it has the quality of a mosaic. Tiny pieces that may go to make something masterful. Could be, if we have the patience to attend that long. I'm very etymological tonight.

Damn, I'm good.

People ask me sometimes how many kids I have. I don’t know what to say. Like, do I have grandkids. I don’t know. I think so, sort of. There are sons of my heart, who are not of my body. Do they count? Of course they do. Even though I will never see them again. You know what it is. It's Gulliver, tied down by ten thousand strings. Only he's tiny. That's what being human is.

Someone's eldest son has gone off to college. I left a comment. Probably came off as preachy. So? Who the hell are you to judge me? Now get upstairs and wait for me.

I spent my birthday with my son. What a holographic statement.


J