The Whole Truthful Infinite Immediate Us

Having a kid will really change you. This kid, he asks me the other day, “If less is sometimes more, does that mean fewer can be greater, like if the love in love songs is not a countable thing?” This kid, he’s a real kick in the seat, let me tell you. Not paranoid at all or anything. Like a dusky stranger in Farewell Land, I guess. Shoot the genius who forgot to grow up, as usual. Steer him clear of the chore wheel, though. Give him a cane and a rifle, maybe a pewter chess set. He doesn’t ever use the phone, tells folks, “These fingers weren’t made for texting or tying blue ribbons on the sky.” But in the not-so-cruel and usual ways he’ll get going at it, well, there could’ve been something to hide, to cherish and take care of in the unrolled boulders of ascent’s toil. But, like I said, I’m a changed man now, so forget it. That kid’s got it made.

He points to things and asks about them. He garbles names and places. Right away, I can tell. The trees aren’t moving like they used to. Streets are blind to it too. But what did you figure with a kid like that? I tell him, “Life is just socks and underwear, Kiddo. Wash ’em every week. Kill some mosquitoes; pay some bills; chew your petals; make yourself useful.” There are dinosaur shapes in the bougainvillea.

This kid, he makes me wonder who it is I’m always pretending to be. A cartwheel of gesturing and…