baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Curse Of The Perpetual Adolescence This view is interesting. Favorite person number 3 (henceforth entrusted with the moniker FP3 for the sake of brevity) is not unlike my Mac G4-he is the ultimate multi-tasker. While my mac can burn a CD, run Pro Tools and Strata at the same time, FP3 can juggle the demands of single parenthood, a vegetable garden fetish and one piano-challenged guitar playing friend all in one weekend. FP3 has had the luck (or the burden depending on how one observes) of playing piano on this little instrumental project of mine (more on this later-hopefully by the time the weather turns cooler and thoughts turn to turkeys and tinsel). He is an exquisite pianist; a musical painting shaded with the cool of Erik Satie and the warmth Tom Waites and Gershwin. So, since I couldn't tickle ivory with a feather, I've asked, or rather begged, for FP3's piano-playing-virtuosity to grace my silly little musical endeavor. But he couldn't indulge me yesterday. His son was in jail. And, like all father's trapped between love for his offspring and supreme annoyance by their stupidity, FP3 was in no mood to fondle the organ (or piano for that matter). "What do I do?" he asked me while my keyboard-starved track played through the monitors. I had no clue what he should do. I'm not much of a father (I have kids-but they're of the furry persuasion). My lack of patience coupled with my anal-retentiveness regarding my time and surroundings painted brood out of the picture years ago; and with Girl-Unit sharing a similar opinion, little Head-Shaved-Guitar-Playing-Baby-Baggages are nowhere in view. Besides, I was a rotten kid. It took 31 years for me to simply begin understanding the benevolence and love of my parents. And I doubt that I'll ever have the patience that my parental angels displayed while I rolled in the shit that was my almost-perpetual adolescence (Yes-I fulfilled the quota of "difficult son:" picked up by the police, sneaking out, crashing the car...). So, how does one discipline a child with equal parts love and resolve? How did my parents do it? How does FP3 do it? I couldn't answer him. I have no clue what it's like to be a parent. I've never seen the view from their window. Until now. And I'm more clueless than ever. 11:21 a.m. - 2001-09-04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||