Where the Wild Boys Are

This whole quitting the job thing has made me a bit reflective the past few days. It’s not that I’m wading any deeper than usual, but instead of standing knee-deep in a tide of bullshit I’m stuck in a swamp of melancholy. I catch myself staring out windows and watching visions do the dances that only visions can do across the green of an unmowed lawn.

I am thinking of my life and the choices that I’ve made, and how all roads lead to here. I remember a poem I wrote for my wife some years ago, back when I did things like write poems for my wife, and the gist of it was that all roads led to her. It is one and the same.

I am here with her and two beautiful boys. Thing 1 being as sweet as he is wild, and Thing 2 being as wild as he is sweet. If I believed in blessings they would be it. I watch them play and revel in their innocence. They are the vision that I lose myself in.

The world if full of hate and sadness. Children are dying everyday from things as avoidable as minor illness and hunger. They are abducted. I look at my boys and it makes me ache to even consider such possibility in our lives.

Just yesterday in my own town a young boy was taken from the front of his home. Luckily the child had friends nearby and they reported it. The abductor was captured before he could even get off the street. I would have killed him.

Seriously, if I had been the parent that walked out to see my child being dragged away I would have chased the guy down and beaten him to a pulp. Hell, I would have done it if it was your kid too.

The thing is, I’m not a violent guy. I’m a democrat. However, put me in that situation and I know without a doubt what I would do. I hope that it is never tested, for the sake of everyone.

These are some of the things I think of while watching my children run free. Other times I imagine them grown and moving on with lives of their own. They morph before my eyes into bright-eyed young men, chasing dreams like so many skirts. I see them becoming the men I know they will be, and feeling as proud as a father could ever feel, which is a surprisingly lonely feeling.

Is this a mid-life crisis, or just a mid-30’s gut check? Are these the fears and hopes that haunt all parents, or am I clinging too tightly to days that are far from over? I am happy being happy, and I do not want that to change. I suppose I am just being selfish.

Whatever the reason, it is just as sobering as it is intoxicating. It is a rose, and I am stopping to smell it. It smells of diapers and dirt. It smells like a life lived happy.

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