pelican1Once a week for the last year I’ve been taking a day off work to spend with Boy Z – Boy Z and Papa Party Days. I’ve done it regardless of work obligations, choosing to arrange work around Party Days rather than Party Days around work. These days are like oases in the work week. Days to get centered and to focus on the important things.

Today was the last Boy Z and Papa Party Day. I’ve got teaching obligations for the next two Thursdays that have a lot to do with improving my chances of having a job in January. After that, there is likely to be an interloper in our midst. Future Boy Z and Papa Party Days will involve a third party, one that I’m fairly certain is not initially going to be welcome by his or her older brother.

Today we did something we do at least once a month – a run up the hills to Cleland Wildlife Park to harass the local fauna. But it was different today, I think I was trying harder recognizing that this was the last time. The last time Boy Z and I would walk alone through the chilly morning mist among the kangaroos and emus.

We listened to Wilco’s  “Being There”. Disc 1 on the way up, including a bonus impromptu rewrite (to the tune of “Kingpin“):

Going to feed kangaroos.
Koalas and emus.
Wombats, numbats, dingoes too.
Going to feed kangaroos.

koala1And we listened to Disc 2 on the way back down. As Boy Z slumbered away in the back seat – exhausted from chasing marsupials and a nasty hot dog lunch – I found myself drifting away into the music.

‘Being There’ came out in the autumn of 1996 – the autumn that I went back to university after a five or six year hiatus. Because of that association, I always think of it as an album for life’s transitions. In 1996, I dragged my sodden ass out of the smoky bars of downtown Athens and made a decision to get my shit together – to finish my degree. I stopped hanging about with the bar flies and coffee house mafioso and started spending nights in libraries and labs. I cut a lot of ties with friends because I thought at the time that they were an unnecessary distraction. My friends represented an idle, hedonistic lifestyle that didn’t seem conducive to higher education. In hindsight, I was the problem, but at the time not returning calls and spurning invitations seemed the sensible path. In fact, one of the most potent memories of this album that I’ve got is listening to “The Lonely 1″ over and over while working alone one late night in the lab trying to finish up an undergraduate genetics research project.

ibises“Being There” has been there many times since. It’s the finest album of one of my favorite bands. I know the record by heart, all it’s stops and starts and chords and lyrics and it is one of the rare albums that never grow tired. It is such a massive rambling record that there is something in it for every occasion. Stomping rockabilly and quiet introspection wedged up together in a 76 minute masterpeice.

It was there today in another time of transition. This time it was the title of the album itself that got to me. Being there. I think about 90% of fatherhood is just showing up. Just being there. And that’s why these days, these weekly outings with my son, have been so important. I know I make mistakes. But on these days it doesn’t matter, because I can look down in my son’s eyes and I can see that the fact that I’m there means a hell of a lot more than anything else. Just taking the time makes the difference. And on these days I’m constantly astounded by my capacity for love. I’m a selfish, self-centered bastard. But this boy – this 15 kilos of flesh and blood and half my DNA – I’d do anything for him. Anything. And now, two years in, I can’t imagine life without him.

feeding ducksHowever, I also can’t imagine life with another one.

I’m worried about Boy Z and how he’s going to deal with the baby. But I’m worried about me too. I don’t know how this works. I don’t know if I have enough room to love another child in the way that I love that boy. I don’t know how much more my heart can expand. How does it work? Do I split my love between them? Do I love Boy Z half as much as I do now?

I don’t know.

But maybe there’s something in the closing track on “Being There”, itself probably inspired by the birth of Jeff Tweedy’s first child:

Well there’s a child on the way,
It could be any day,
But how this life will change him, that we don’t know.

Well there’s a child on the way,
One day, he’s gonna say, “Ain’t you my dad?”
Then he’s gonna look down and smile,
and after awhile,
He’ll say, “That’s for sure son, cause you got my eyes.”

Well there’s a dreamer in my dreams…

wormCause you got my eyes.*

It’s not going to be the same. It’s never going to be the same. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t going to be better.

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*Actually, Boy Z has his mother’s eyes. But maybe #2….

** Dr. O’C has informed me that I’m being stupid, that I can still have days with just me and Boy Z. In fact, she says, it would be good to make him feel special.

*** Boy Z is currently spending his first night in a proper bed. Transitions indeed.

**** In that last picture, he’s holding an earthworm. I was inside cooking when he found his first one. He was so proud of himself that he brought it to show his mother, who promptly freaked out. When I came outside, he was standing there with the biggest pout I’ve ever seen in my life. So, I went back with him to dig more worms. Because what is a little boy if not a worm collector? It’s part of the package.

***** Five is far too many footnotes.

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If you don’t own Wilco’s “Being There” you really should. If you’re not yet a Wilco fan, this is where you should start. Get it at Wilco - Being There.

 
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