I brought the young mister with me to the gym tonight and told him I needed his help to push me a little bit further and harder.
Showed the kid that his old man can throw iron all over the place with ease and reckless abandon and helped him do some of the same.
He did the same for me on the cardio machines and got so lost in his exercise he didn’t see me smile because of the smile on his face.
He still loves to run whereas I don’t like it unless I am playing some kind of sport.
We tease each other a bit and I threaten to wear him out knowing that if we stick with cardio he is well beyond me. He ran and competed in cross country whereas I was once a swimmer who specialized in sprinting.
“No one cares who you are here. The shmata you wear doesn’t define or identify you.”
He nods his head and my mind flows through a variety of memories, thoughts and ideas.
“Some shmatas need to be worn out but that is a different story.
Tomorrow marks nine months since dad slipped off whatever bonds tie us to this plane and there is plenty of reason to believe his absence is tied into my lack of patience for some people and things.
Sometimes you look upon the past and let all go because it is what you say once was and sometimes you don’t let go because what once was still is.
That is good for romance but not good for relations with those who try your patience.
I reiterated the need for recognizing that if you don’t share a bed with me you don’t get to make comments about certain things and even if you do share a bed I may not give you license to remark.
There are lines that can be blurred and crossed and some that can’t.
Cross those and there is a significant chance you’ll receive a response that either filled with fire and acid or exile.
I know what I am willing to do and what I am willing to accept just as clearly as I know what I won’t, at least in some areas.
Got a very clear picture in my head of what I would like to see for my birthday knowing most of it won’t and might not ever come to be.
But the thing about it is I don’t limit myself to saying some things have to happen upon a particular date because there are legitimate reasons to adjust time frames.
Someone once asked me if I realized it doesn’t sound good to be described as someone who is crazy or who rants and I said it is not good to be described as a milquetoast who doesn’t know how to tell people what is and isn’t acceptable.
Love me or don’t.
Hate me or don’t.
Like me or don’t.
Simplification works.
I am in a particular kind of mood, got Otis playing and a drink while I prepare for a big Tuesday.
Got no patience for most nonsense and am feeling extra ornery, but kind of good too ‘cuz watching the young mister get lost in the joy of exercise is the kind of thing most parents can relate to.
The joy you see in your progeny’s eyes never gets old.
