Sharks in the Water

     It is a rare thing to have a captive audience and actually have something to say, and today I am hoping that I have both.  It doesn't seem like that long ago, but once upon a time our eldest son was in middle school and I had the pleasure of accompanying him and his group to the Fort Wayne Zoo.  He was on the edge of his seat in anticipation to see first hand and for the first time, the shark exhibit.  As a first time Father I may have made some poor decisions in permitting him to screen some Shark Week episodes from Discovery a time or three, but in all fairness...it is something to behold watching a sleepless species of the fish family relentlessly hunt and unapologetically shred their prey.  And when you stand just inches away from a predator of that magnitude with mere glass between you and 15 rows of razor sharp teeth on each jaw it tends to steal your breath while sending chills up your spine.

     We saw nearly every exhibit and our feet grew weary, so the promise of ice cream to help rejuvenate was certainly in order.  Time must have eluded us as we received the alert text that we had only a few minutes remaining until we needed to head back to home base and return to the vehicles.  The ice cream was still frozen to the paper and we had barely even begun to dig in, and yet we had to make it to the shark exhibit on the other side of the zoo.  I felt the world of condescending parents pointing their collective finger and shouting how could a father lose track of time to permit the loss of the main exhibit he wished to see?  What was wrong with me?  

     We ran.  We raced like the wind hurdling strollers and bent over kids trying to pickup the gum they just lost as we counted the minutes ticking downward like a cartoon anvil.  I would not be the one Dad who failed to make sure his kid got to see the main attraction.  His excitement regarding the exhibit on the way to the zoo echoed in my ears as we ran for dear life to beat the clock.  Another text came through.  Time was of the essence and we had little to spare.  We finally made it to the entrance.  We were there and with a few minutes to actually walk through and greet the deadly sharks with a smile.  That was at least, until I saw the sign.  It quite blatantly and well-enforced stated that there was to be no food permitted in the shark exhibit.  Once again...failure loomed like a prowling lion.  We, of course barely ate any of the promised ice cream we just bought due to the massive and prize-winning sprint.  There was a choice to be made, so I turned to Michael and explained with what few words I could muster, and with all apologies, that we didn't have time to do both the ice cream and the sharks because we apparently could not enter through with our ice cream as they prefer to starve the sharks and feed them little children who get lost at the zoo at the end of the day.  That's not fair.  I may have been misleading there on that last part.  I was recently informed that they feed the sharks at the beginning of the day now.  It seems to be less messy.

     I did not possess the words to adequately convey the idea like the Dads in the movies where they sit down with their son, say a few sentences that sound really cool, and walk out with a fist-bump and face the world shoulder-to-shoulder.  I had a small moment of genius at the last second and said, "Mike, while we can't take in the ice cream, and I would hate for you to miss out on the sharks 'cuz I messed up on the time...why don't I hold on to your ice cream?  You can go through and check out the sharks, and when you are finished...the ice cream will be here  waiting for you.  What would you like to do?"  I'll remember his next words to my death bed...they just meant so much to me,"What do you think Dad?  Of course, I want to stay here and eat the ice cream with my Dad.  Sharks can wait until next time."  My eyes welted up with tears while my chest puffed up with air.  I was a king, and held my head high while proudly surveying my kingdom with style and then some along side my son who wanted to eat ice cream with me over seeing his much beloved sharks. My subjects thusly bowed their heads in reverence while donning my shoulders promptly with a royal robe and my head with a golden crown riddled with gems which were obviously from Jared's.

Your son runs to you with glee and a bright smile dons his face as he asks, “Hey Dad, (the voice echoes) can you come help me with this?”  You begin to channel your inner James Earl Jones and reply, “Yes my son.  I shall help, for I am your father.” All the sudden you have a new breath in your lungs new skin on your bones you flip your hair back with your left hand ripping open your shirt to reveal super dad tights.  Your cape flowing in the wind with gloves on and bones strengthened, you walk fearlessly behind your child as thunder claps in the background with every step and music rises in cinematic form and the sun sets in the distance shadowing two silhouettes walking together...and fade out as credits roll across the screen you see your name in bright white lettering against the black background, “Dad” played by none other than you as it should be.

     I have held several positions with varying rates of pay over the past 26 years, but none have ever come close to the compensation plan of being a Dad.  There is this magical and incomprehensible reciprocating enrichment which comes from pouring of yourself into your children from your knowledge, to life experiences, to just...the everyday.  If you are a Dad...then you already know of that which I write and you know fully well the benefits of being a Dad and the numerous and varied rewards of doing your best to fulfill the role of Father.  I am an amateur, myself, but may I encourage you then as Father's day lies right around the corner...to dive in head-first, soak it up, live it up, and do everything you can to raise your children above your shoulders, and keep them there as long as possible, hold them close, for the years go by in a blink...but then again...that's just my humble opinion.

He Was Just Gone

     There used to be this chubby little boy running around the house with a bucket on his head and using the cat as a pillow and the dog as a blanket.  His cheeks were like that of a chipmunk...it was all you could do to keep from pinching them non-stop.

     I woke up this morning and the little boy was gone.  Vanished.  Into thin air.  We looked high and low, checked iPhone locator dots, messenger location, Google maps.  We used "The Cat in the Hat's - Calculatus Eliminatus."  We Stumbledupon his Tumblr account, Reddit outloud, and even asked the mayor of 4Square, but all for naught. He was just gone.  I honestly do not understand how something like this could happen.  I was certain we kept better tabs on him than that.  It's similar to those times when you walk into a room for a certain thing, and 5 minutes later you are still standing in the center of the room, wondering why you are there and what you were searching for in the first place.  As strange as this may sound...that very thing happened to this child of whom I speak...several years back.  We were in the theater, and I asked him to run and grab another bag of popcorn from the pantry.  10 minutes rolled by before I realized that neither the popcorn nor the child had returned.  I had to go in after him and retrieve the scrumptious necessities myself, for when I arrived in the pantry, there he was peering outside at the neighbors' dogs.  It was good that I went in anyhow because we also needed a fresh bag of flaming Hot Cheetos.

     Where did he go?  He was the kind of kid with a ball of energy just waiting to be opened by Pandora, and when the seal had cracked...look out!  His baby picture has him propped up with a bright smile on his face, fists clenched, and starring into the distance in preparation for his first TED talk.  We can't seem to find him.  I thought perhaps he was out in the garage next to the heavy bag where we would box and listen to 90's Rap music and talk about the many corollaries between life and boxing, but there was only a used pair of gloves and some wrist wraps.  Perhaps he was in the yard running through the sprinkler with his cousins, but when I turned the corner...there was no Nick.  The sprinklers looked like they hadn't been used in years.  They were dry, rusted over, and lifeless.  He would on occasion, play hide and seek in the basement, but I couldn't find him down there.  He wasn't in the attic, and he wasn't screening anything in the theater.  How does one just disappear like that?  Joyce reminded me that from time to time he would retreat to my office to play video games on the Mac and watch Funny stop-motion Hulk videos on Youtube while battling his Hulk action figures.  When I opened the door to the office...the lights were dim.  The screens for the Mac were off and no child sat before them playing some silly game.  There were no Hulk videos running in the background, and no little guy duking it out with some green action figures.  The silence was deafening.  There was a pain in my heart with the void of laughter and giggles that once stemmed from a child sitting in my seat.  The chair wasn't twirling in a dizzy spiral round and round again with a young voice calling for my attention inquiring about dinner.  There was no flipping through the channels or watching a rabbit-hole YouTube link and switching to an entirely different video only seconds into it, and repeating.  It was just silent, and he was gone.

     Joyce had found someone that looked like him upstairs in Nick's bedroom.  When I reached  the top of the stairs I met a young man who vaguely resembled our little boy, but with all vulnerability was far older and looked almost nothing like our missing child.  This fine young gentleman was tall, well dressed, and wore a long black gown with a light sheen and a square cap with a golden tassel dangling on the side.  He smiled and asked me, "Well, whatta-ya think, Dad?"  It sounded like him.  Surely it did.  His hair was thicker.  Voice was deeper, and somehow older.  He held a diploma binder in his left hand and a Katana Blade clenched proudly in his right fist.  I honestly didn't think he needed it, I mean...let's be honest.  They mail you the diploma within a couple of days, so what was he gonna do with a binder?  The blade was obvious and you being a bright and intelligent blog-subscribing individual and a well-read scholar...I needn't even get into the specifics of the need for the katana blade.  You probably already know everything about that.

    Who was this guy?  And where was our son?  Where's the kid with whom I would play catch in the backyard, and kick the soccer ball on the field, and wrestle to the ground?  Where's the little guy I used to throw out of his bed and claim his mattress as my own at bedtime as another opportunity to wrestle and bear hug?  Where's the kid I used to tuck into bed so tightly at the end of the day that he could barely move, and as I would turn to make my exit I would hear a slight giggle and bed squeak and ruffling of the covers.  I would then turn quickly to discover he had shot his foot out from underneath the tightly wound covers requiring us to begin once again...laughing the whole time, until we got yelled at by Mom.

     Apparently, that young child to whom I have referred several times is all grown-up, standing before us at attention with style and then some ready to take on the world headstrong and sure of his next steps.  I only wish I were as confidant in my own.  We were told all of our married life that we should take every moment to enjoy them while they're young, because one fine day we'll wake up and they will be graduating.  They were right.  We both did our best to suppress their aging process and keep them small and huggable and throwable, but in the end, after looking high and low and in all the regular places, our little boy had vanished leaving in his wake a fine young gentleman well on his way to the next chapter in this book called "Life", but then again...that's just my humble opinion.