Watching Jackie walk around the fair only wanting the next dose of fun has me in a whirlwind of realization that I need the like practice. Being with him today at fair helped me reach some unexpected apogee of self-understanding. And from his unintended and enveloping instruction. Answers to so much concerning stress and worry and why I’m not where I want to be, career-wise and in other existential parcels, just watching him walk around that petting area to when he attacked the ice-cream Alice bought him on the way out. He was only out to enjoy himself. That’s it. That simple. Skipping and singing, and looking around at all the rides and other people, not stressing about time as I was in the beginning, obligations outside the fairgrounds, nothing. Jack was there to enjoy himself. The metaphoric and cosmic suggestiveness of all around me pertaining to him was pleasant conversation, instruction. So, I get it. I need to change. And with this new shift of stylized life I sip my decaf at home and look through the pictures, snicker and laugh to myself between sips. But there’s nothing funny here, or nothing casual. This was a stark and punctuated lesson from my son, whom I’ve always regarded (or, since he was born), as my most skillful and holistically haunting professor.
When leaving, my little prof’ passed out in the back seat. Wife and I bet how long he’d last. Collectively we wagered between three and five minutes. He didn’t even make it to second 45, or even 30. He was depleted. He worked too hard. He deserved his rest. I want to deserve a rest as he did today, and know I did something extraordinary and significant as he for his writing father did. We’re home now, and I just went upstairs to check on him as I always do. And I stood there, just watching. My professor, in his rest.