I’ve figured out things about me a long time ago that I just know and live with.
See, I’m a decent enough person. I care about other people, and I care about trying to do the right things. I work hard every day at striving to be a better person, but some things probably won’t ever change.
I’m the type of guy who has a lot of friends / acquaintances, but I don’t really have a lot of close friends. Best friends, even. Even growing up, it was kind of always the same, but it was okay. I was a little odd, different, nerdy–whatever you want to call it. I could have friends come and go and maybe there was a sense of loss, but at the end of it all if I had a good book to read, an Atari or computer or whatever else there was to occupy me, I didn’t really care.
I never got deeply into sports, and I fake it enough to like the Cubs these days. I read the news often, so I can keep up enough to be socially sportfully aware. I just don’t care. I don’t dislike sports, but they’re not important enough to me to memorize the stats of this player or that.
I’m easy to talk to, but at the same time, I can be difficult to carry conversations with; I’m inquisitive and I try to find common ground, but there’s always some simple barrier of lack-of-interest that makes it easy enough for me to be different enough to dissipate that common ground.
I’m cool with that, too. I used to dwell on it, suffer over it, etc. but life just keeps on moving and I find new things to get interested in and to learn and to make me more of who I am.
These things are me.
But something else has happened, too. Sydney came into the world a little over 2 and a half years ago and I did not know what to do. I wanted to be so madly in love with her that when I had to hold her all by myself for the first hour of her life and the deep feelings did not strike and the fireworks did not go off… Well, I wondered about who I am.
My foundation was rattled.
I cared. I deeply wanted to do the right things. I struggled.
And all I know is that now, some 2 and a half years later when I’m sitting alone in the dark on my deck with the outside speakers easing out The Fray’s “How To Save A Life” and just doing nothing other than enjoying the great weather, the view of my house from the outside looking in and the general “moment” of it all, I realize that even thinking about another person (Sydney) can cause me to get to the verge of tears.
In fact, any simple, touching family moment on television can bring tears to my eyes. I’m possibly the biggest wuss on the planet, but I’m fixated here.
Somehow, out of the blue, something snuck up on me and tackled me so hard that it left me stunned and not even knowing it had happened.
People have always come and gone, but I cannot live without this person in my life.
There has always been something for me to do, but I’d sacrifice anything for 5 minutes of me begging for one more kiss.
I’m a little odd, yet somehow there’s a tiny person who just does not give a shit and just wants to sit next to her daddy on the couch and stick her fork into his mashed potatoes and corn mix in the Banquet dinner that I eat for lunch and tell me just how good it is.
She even can have the last bite.
My favorite things mean so much to me that I want her to have them more than I want them. The first and last drink of a delicious beverage. The last few kernels of Garrett’s Cheese corn or Caramel corn from downtown Chicago while it’s still warm will always be hers to have.
Dammit, I cannot even type any of this without welling up. I’ve never thought myself capable of feeling this good, proud, and like a bawling little bitch all at the same time.
Someday, I’m sure she’s going to hit an awkard age. The age where daddy is now “Russ” or “You” or something far less pleasant. I’m sure that I’m going to become persona non grata for some term in her life and I’m sure that she’ll not be able to comprehend just how much she’ll break my heart until she can experience these same feelings for herself–when she has a child.
But, it’s okay.
My heart is definitely hers to break.