You can come for a ride with me, but it’s not going to be like most rides. We’ll find the old dirt roads with not much to see. Woods, streams, mountains, and more dirt roads steadied with ruts and bumps and dust. The windows will be down. Wind will stream inside one and out the other. And the conversation might be about who visited who in which dream and what had been said and the possibilities of why. Or, we won’t talk. Instead we might listen to the chirping of the birds. Or, if we’re lucky the rumbling of a thunderstorm will tickle our imaginations until finally it hits and the dusty dirt road becomes a slippery mud pit. If the storm is bad enough, and the wind strong enough, a few branches might come down, even a tree. That’s OK though. We have rope and a chain saw, and besides, the story just got better. Thanks for coming on these rides, Dad. Even though you’re gone, I still talk with you. Sorry about the yelling- Sometimes you do feel a bit too far away.
“In my last future I’m alive forever.” -Gavin Taggart. 6/21/21. Age 5.
I was sitting on the deck with Megan when Gavin landed this line on us. And who am I to tell him anything different. Gavin is five. Sometimes he says things and I look at him with curiosity and wait for more to be spoken. Maybe he’ll dive deeper into his thought process, or, he’ll switch topics and talk about a toy.
This line though….this line though…
Gavin was awarded ‘Critical Thinker Award.’ He’s in kindergarten. Gavin was awarded the same award in his pre-K class last year. Gavin was also awarded ‘Most Creative Egg Drop’ by his peers. He selected to have an egg placed in the middle of a watermelon which was dropped from the roof of his school by their Principal. Gavin was the only child to select a food item that would literally explode at impact. It certainly did explode and the kids erupted with joy. The egg didn’t break. Gavin is five and is the youngest child in his class.
During his last week of school, the weather became very hot and humid. He was sent to the principal’s office just after recess ended. From what I understand, he was rather sweaty and walked back into the classroom with the rest of the students. It was at this time when Gavin apparently announced, “This is Fing Awesome!” Yesterday, I asked Gavin why he said that. Gavin told me that it was because he was able to run so very fast in the hot weather and that the weather didn’t affect him. The joy of a child is a beautiful and remarkable thing. Even when they choose inappropriate words to express their happiness.
I think I’ll print this out for Gavin. Maybe he can read it in a few years. Or in his last future. Love you, Gavin. I’m blessed and thankful to be your father.
Cheers everyone, I hope you don’t mind me sharing a little bit of ‘life’ with you.
Get a job, you bum! Daddy, why did you say that to that man? He’s a bum. There’s a help wanted sign right over there. But why did you say that to that man? Because he’s a bum and needs a job. Why though? Because he needs a job. Why? What if he’s sick? I don’t care! I work when I’m sick and you’ll work when you’re sick!
And the levity of one example brought on the harm of another while watching stars, listening to ‘mind’, and fingers reading pages and pages and dusty pages turning to new pages smelling of ink while staring at a bar room wall with all sounds bouncing from ear to ear, some listening to this, some not, the bar pushes further, mouths drink and pages turn; lives of another might be yours someday, as she watches from the other side.
It was a different version of today without tomorrow, yesterday was gone too. Leaving a something option. “Gravity,” he said, “is used in ways we don’t understand; holding and un-holding themselves exactly where they want to be while everything else moves.” To conceal is to prove a whisper can turn to life. The holding of time isn’t a hand.
I was sitting at the bar. Directly to my left was a door leading to the deck. The wind was picking up. John was rambling on with a friend. I saw the clouds and thought of my father. I walked outside and took this photo. I liked the wind and the darkening clouds. These clouds were exactly overhead. I wondered if there was a piece of my father in them. His celebration of life is this coming Saturday. I don’t want to go. I will go. But I don’t want to. I’m struggling with the guilt of not wanting to go. Just like I’m struggling with the guilt of telling my father he wasn’t there for me when I needed him most. I guess that’s how it goes. And maybe that’s why I stood outside alone. I wanted to show someone the photo of the clouds when I walked back in. What’s the point though. The clouds meant more to me than them. They always will.
And all their necks are bent. Not in any which way. But, only one way. And they bent and they bent. Gobbling up and down as though they were turkeys. When the dark clouds came they scattered and looked at their feet.
From the three dimensions trails a long dark thread, much like a tail hidden in speckled sand; dust-like in its appearance, unmoving, unmoved, and unproven. Seen though, by at least one pair of closed eyes.