This is part two of my favorite pictures from 2011. While the first five were world photographs, this group is more personal. I either took them, or was part of their capture.
And like the last time, I’ll comment on why they matter to me.
I didn’t expect to be writing about this topic any time soon, but that’s the thing about shit… it can surprise you.
Among the many priority shifts required for parenthood is the sudden awareness of certain places you never even saw before. The most striking is my sudden awareness of playgrounds, slides, and fast-food jungle gyms. I don’t think I ever actually used a fast-food play-palace during my own childhood, and until recently I couldn’t tell you anywhere I’d seen one.
These days I can be flying down the freeway, notice one out of the corner of my eye, and slice across three lanes of traffic to get our little man some slide time. He loves these places, but the adult in me only sees the vile plastic, wobble construction, and mats which were probably washed when Reagan was in office. Yet these places have revealed something much more interesting and unknown; playgrounds of all kinds have their own social order. Adults beware.
My son has just now grasped his first two clear words… Dada, and Mama. Truth be told he’s said them both for a while, but in the last few weeks it has a lucid connection to the appropriate people. (“Dada” has been a blanket term for any male or picture of me for quite some time… now…it’s just used for me. A nice change). So it’s obvious that he can’t read yet. But I think his personal library is far larger than mine.
Long before I was a father I decided I had absolutely no interest in flying with an infant. It always seemed like the parent trying to quiet their child under the glare of their fellow passengers would rather pop the emergency exit and take their chances with the free fall. No thank you.
So since my son has been born he’s flown many, many times. Frankly, I’ve lost count, and I applaud my wife for surviving the recurring madness. However, I have only taken one flight with the two of them and it established airports and airplanes as places where new and exciting things can happen with your child.
Over the years I’ve heard many people describe parenting and mention how much they enjoyed watching their little one discover the world. But I think the real wonder of it isn’t in what the child discovers, but what it awakens in the adults. By the very nature of our adulthood, we are matured, toned-down, and muted in our daily lives. We go through a million variations of been-there-done-that to get to our milestone of the moment.
The English language fascinates me. Unlike French or Italian, English lacks a lyrical or sensual structure, even when coming out of Kiera Knightly. Yet, whenever I think I should really learn another language I’m reminded how much I really don’t know my first one.
I don’t remember learning English. I’m sure I was full of questions about it, but I truly have no memories of asking about a word or learning a new phrase. For me, vocabulary exercises are linked to those specially hellish memories of classes which couldn’t end fast enough. Yet, now that we’re spending time parroting things for my son I’ve gained a new perspective on the enormous mountain of learning associated with English. In fact, maybe I need to learn something else because the scale can’t be larger than the jumbled mess of rules and exceptions which make up my native tongue.
My first year of fatherhood has brought with it many lessons I never expected. Of course every new parent experiences changes and learns things they wouldn’t know otherwise. For example, no man can tell you how many weeks it is before you can really tell the sex of a fetus… unless he’s doctor, or he’s been there.
However, I’m talking about lessons – observations, really – I would not have come to without our little guy around. So, here are my top five for year one:
After nearly a year of fatherhood, I’ve reached a strange season in the eyes of others. When any conversation leads me to reveal the age of our little guy it brings about a universal response.
“Oh, that’s such a great age….”
This declaration brings me to one of two possibilities; the person speaking either has no recollection of a child this age, or they are being factious.
Life is a frustrating series of boundaries. I’ve always hated the things I can’t do, lack the talent to accomplish, or won’t find the access to attempt. And now, as a father, I will be forced into the role of “them”. I’m now part of the big, dark, unsupportive mass of people setting up the “don’t go near there” boundaries. So this has me thinking about how much the fences vary.
