Oh, Gavin. This mind of yours.

Am I the only one to find creativity in this? I am the father. I wish to not be blind of that fact. However, I can’t unsee the stance, the distance, the background. The use of ‘people’ which are decorations for a home, just not in this instance. In this instance, a soon-to-be four-year-old positioned his people exactly so.

IMG_5083

 

I had no choice but to take this photo and share with all of you.

Thoughts?

Matt

photo taken 8/12/19

 

A dirt road, A pub, and Family

I splashed water from the bathroom sink onto my face and looked at my dripping curiosity. This is my third year as a father. Downstairs our son, Gavin, is running the pitter-patter pattern while yelling, ‘Oh No! The Dino’s a comin!’

Today we’ll drive to the White Mountains. We like old dirt roads that wind through the country side and give glimpses of lakes and mountain tops. We like to drive slowly, open the windows, and look for dinosaurs. These old roads are seldom traveled and when you’re on them they feel like they’re yours. Trees tower on both sides and the forest is so deep that it seems like there couldn’t possibly be an end to them; with that feeling comes thoughts that anything is possible, even finding a dinosaur.

We’ll most likely take my truck, where Gavin rides in the middle of the back seat. He sits up high because of his car seat and looks like a child-king. I’m fine with that. He’s the one child we have and we waited a long while to be gifted his presence. I laugh at people who try and determine our parenting style. All they need to do is ask. I’ll tell them, ‘Fucking awesome and nearly perfect.’ With a straight face. Hoping they piss me off.

After driving through the mountains we’ll eventually make our way into a small town and stop at a pub. I’ll order some kind of dark foaming beer, hopefully the foam will spill over the top of the glass and spill down the sides. We’ll order Gavin french fries with vinegar (he loves that stuff) and chicken nuggets and Megan will order anything her heart desires for the rest of her life.

I’ll scan the pub for people of passion. Let there be a few. Silent is the day when eyes cast shadows, drooping and lowering into their drink without thought. That is not the society to be. Have your pints, raise your whiskey, cheers the one next to you and talk about what moves you. Talk about why your day fetched its morning to deliver your afternoon. Hell, talk politics! Do it! Oh, I have…and will continue to. I find airing out differences over a pint of beer at a pub to be aggressively healthy; because how the hell do you find health with laziness? I think we’ve been lied to. Over and over. I see the lies floating out of mouths, especially the talking heads on TV, somehow those same lies find new housing and eventually find their way to me in person, and I put them where they belong, under my boot.

But don’t mind me. I was born with a bit too much energy. A bit too much passion. We’ll see what today brings. If it isn’t much, I’ll make it into something much more.

Matt

Cheers and Happy Father’s day to you all. Even the Mammas because, well without you…

 

white mountains
My cell does OK. White Mountains. 

A parenting paradise

It took two and a half years
for me to want to level another parent.
It happened in the suction ball room
at the Children’s Museum in Portland.
Gavin didn’t wait in line.
Instead, he stood directly next to a girl his age
and attempted to share the space.
I immediately intervened.
I told Gavin he needed to wait for his turn
and asked him to apologize to the girl.
Gavin is two and a half. He handled it well.
I stood, turned, and walked away.
The girl’s father walked toward the already handled situation.
I smiled and said hello.
He stared at me and ignored my hello.
But what really pissed me off
was that he attempted to stare me down.
At a Children’s Museum.
I changed my face.
I know this won’t be the last time.

 

-M. Taggart

 

Odd Walking Thoughts

All the legends of writing that I care about. Fuck em.
I still love them. Ben Franklin ran away from his wife and stood in front of windows feeling for wind. How many quotes should I read.
Hem, my favorite.
Buk, you old fucker, finally being known, talking about creating, always creating no matter what, baby.
Fuck you.
Em..oh Em. You stood at the top of your stairs. You wrote your heart out.
You did’t pay for shit. You disregarded everything but yourself and had nothing more to do than think yourself into words.
I’ve been to your home. I lived near you. I see how they think.

Faulkner. Steinbeck. Let’s reach back and pull a bone,. None of you bastards talk about raising a child. None of you. As much as I think you are all brilliant. You are weak.

Take the trash out. The one filled with shit diapers.
Smelling while you walk. Hoping you can make it to the dumpster before they wake up.
Wake up. Don’t wake up. Don’t fall asleep. Fever. Screaming while you hold your cell phone in front of you thumbing your way to, create baby, create. Fuck you Buk. I know I could kick your ass. Walk on all the glass you want. You’ve become the same annoyance you complained Hem was.

The every day happening of an infant turning into a young child, cared for by a man is dispersed into feminist hatred.

We father’s who take care of our children will be forgotten. None of you are willing to write about us.

 

 

 

Should I Call Her – Short Story

Should I Call Her
Short Story
Written by -M. Taggart

‘You’ve been sitting here for an hour thinking about calling her.’

The sun wouldn’t set for another two hours. He liked sitting on the deck and doing this. Watching. Thinking. Drinking beer. What would be the same if he did call?

‘Honestly. Tell me what you’re doing with this? It’s been three days.’

‘It’s a bit like holding onto sleep when you’ve first woken up. You know you’re awake. You want to get up because you know you should be up, but you don’t get up and instead you do nothing.’ Nick said feeling he’d described it as best as he could, but also feeling like he’d left something out.

‘I think you should. There’s your phone. Pick it up. Call. You said she’s interested. How do you know again?’

‘She told me she was. She walked up to me and told me to call her. She took my phone and put her number in the contacts. Smiled and walked away.’

‘And now it’s been three days and you’ve done nothing. Why? Want to sit on this deck forever and look at the sun go down?’

A Blue Jay was screaming. It had just landed in a bush, down below the deck, and now screamed. He wished he knew if the bird was male or female. He should know the difference, thought he had, but now wasn’t sure.

‘Do you have any more of that whiskey? The Whistle Pig whiskey?’

‘I do. Not sure that I want any. It’s where it always is.’ Nick said without looking at Chad. Chad walked into the apartment and came back with two glasses, ice in a dish, and the Whistle Pig whiskey.

‘You know, Nick, you not knowing if you want this whiskey is much like you not knowing if you want to call her. There’s no point in doing nothing other than wasting time. It’s either you do, or you don’t. Once you’ve made that decision, the rest happens. And, you can’t control it.’

A second Blue Jay landed near the first Blue Jay. They both sat on branches near one another and screamed. The sun had dipped. Chad poured two whiskey drinks, added one ice cube to each, and sat down.

‘I don’t like ice in mine.’ Nick said. He let the ice float. Watched as it diluted the whiskey.

‘Nick, she might not be interested anymore. Think of that? Maybe she’s found another guy to give interesting ideas about being interested. You taking three days to call her isn’t ideal. Not in my opinion. Maybe she doesn’t want to hear from you now. Better not call.’

The Blue Jays had stopped screaming. They sat and looked at whatever it is that Blue Jays look at. The sun had dipped slightly more.

‘Maybe she isn’t. Maybe I don’t care. Maybe this deck and this view are all I need.’ Nick knew what he said wasn’t true. He felt his lie inside him.

‘That’s fine. Let’s not talk about it more. Did you see the game last night? The Celtics picked up a good one. He’s 6ft 8 with a wing span of a 7 footer. I think he’s an MVP in the making.’

‘Yea. I guess.’ Nick picked up the whiskey drink. Watched as the ice cube floated to the back of the glass as he tipped it. He sipped the diluted drink. ‘Maybe I’ll call her right now.’

‘Good. What’s her name?’ Chad asked.

‘Jenny.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s O.K.’

‘I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t know.’

‘It’s O.K. I’m fine.’

‘I wish I had known, I wouldn’t have asked.’

The sun had dipped slightly more. Chad refilled the whiskey in his glass. ‘Do you want more?’

‘Yes.’ said Nick. ‘What do you suppose happens to the male Blue Jay if he loses her? Do you know? I thought I knew. But now I don’t remember.’

 

**

thanks for reading

ps, it’s my birthday. i’m thankful to have another with my wife. i didn’t mean to write this. it just happened.

Matt

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thought Drop –

Today, she’ll walk away for the last time.

-M. Taggart

 

It’s simple. You either want in. Or, you want out. If you want in, drop the games, and be all in. Everything else is like building a story out of adjectives. And you’re the one building.

odd walking thoughts – the thinking of it

A grizzled man sits at a pub. His beer is warm. He watches a man standing near him. He wants to know why a man would stand at a bar. You sit, he thinks, and you misery yourself. The man standing notices he is being observed. He says, ‘How’s your night going?’ The sitting man tries to speak but his throat was yet to be unclogged with the mucus built at the back of the tongue. Instead of a reply he nodded silently. ‘Your beer is almost gone. Want another?’ The sitting man pushed away anger at the thought of a free beer from a man who would stand at at bar. Finally, mucus gone below, he speaks this, ‘Why are you standing at a bar. Why not sit, relax?’ The standing man replied, ‘I was sitting. I thought about standing. Up I stood, so I would be done with the thinking of it. Just as I did when I asked how your night was. And then to offer another round. So when you take your first taste, I’ll be walking out the door, having left you behind.’

**
-M. Taggart

We’re not your Ken Doll

Well God. Here we are again.
The sweetness was taken away.

So fuck it.

It reminded me of when I was dating a beautifully intelligent liberal woman. Turns out she never wanted kids. Never wanted to marry. Never wanted to live in the same home. Took her two years to tell me. Her favorite saying was, you’re my man. You’re My Man.

She loved to show me off and bragged how my tie matched her outfit. Though I am color blind, she was amazed at my ability to dress. And to smile. And to make her look good.

I grew a beard. I dropped the tie.

She complained about my beard. She didn’t like it. Said it didn’t match her outfit. I said I’m not your Ken Doll. I’ll find someone who does.

And I did.

Fucking Cheers.

-M. Taggart

A Poem

When men were men-
their fists were large.
Mouths stood shut-
Memories of family meant something,
a ring meant something.

-M. Taggart

I wrote this originally as follows on FB:

‘When men were men their fists were large. Mouths stood shut. Memories of family meant something. And a ring meant something.’

Megan liked it. I asked her why. I enjoyed her answer. So, now I share it here. Cheers.

 

Odd Walking Thoughts – Menacing Rock

We sit, clashing smiles, seeing each other, hoping for blood. Again. It’s not enough to read our history. Word of mouth is a joke we understand, it’ll only play out nicely when we kill one another. Don’t you agree. The boy was confused by the rock. It was a menacing rock. He’d been deep in the woods and fallen asleep next to it. ‘Why do you speak to me, rock.’ the rock did not reply.

M. Taggart

Copyright 2017