An acquaintance told me recently that she's having twins and did I have any advice. "Buckle your seatbelt?" I offered.
I said other, more encouraging things, of course. But, yeh, my boys are 10 now, and it really has been quite a ride. Not easy. More than hard, sometimes. Even so, as I once said to baby James on a very late, very dark, very long-ago night as I held him in my arms, rocking him to sleep:
"There is nothing in the world I would rather be doing right now than this."
I had never felt that way before. About anything. Despite my best efforts, I've always been a chronic malcontent. If you've ever read the Phantom Tollbooth, you remember the protagonist, Milo:
"Wherever he was he wished he were somewhere else, and when he got there he wondered why he'd bothered."
Similarly, back in the day, when the boys were still just a sparkle in their daddy's eye, I remember telling my then girlfriend that I didn't feel like doing whatever it was we had planned that day. "But you never feel like doing anything," she said. "So that feeling doesn't mean anything. It's just background noise." I didn't feel criticized by that. I felt seen. She was right. So I nodded in agreement and fell in line with the plan.
That was how life mostly felt to me lo these many years. Until that moment with baby James when I heard those words in my mind "There is nothing in the world I would rather be doing right now than this." It really felt more like I heard those words spoken into existence within, loud and clear, from the ether. They actually kind of startled me. I think what was happening was that a new part of me was waking up and becoming alive. My heart suddenly grew three sizes, if you will. A lot has changed since then. But not that.
So much change. It's hard to keep up. The boys are growing up so fast. I'm constantly saying goodbye to them as they once were and hello to who they've just become, an unending (thus far) process of grief and celebration, coming and going, greetings and farewell. Amidst all this change, the only constant is people saying trite things like 'The only constant is change.'
"Every act of creation is an act of destruction." - Pablo Picasso
I'm actually a big fan of platitudes. It kind of comes with the territory of dadding. At least that's what they taught me in Dad School....Wait a minute....I Never Went to Dad School! (palm to face/"DOH!"). No wonder this is so fucking hard.
A joke of course, but I do recall actually telling myself once in a moment of despair some years ago when I felt like things were too much "You know, self, you've never actually raised twins before." I was right; I hadn't! But I'm trying about as hard as I can to figure it out in time and be a good father. As I tell the boys sometimes to temper expectations when they are being demanding "You know boys, being your father is a volunteer position. I don't get paid a dime for this!"
Another joke. There's more where that came from (to the boys' dismay). I have a theory about dad jokes and why they're so stupid. It has to do with being love drunk, so charmed and giddy that we can't quite help acting dumb, just like people do around a crush. Except this crush doesn't fade after a week or a month. It goes on. And on. It's a life sentence for us all, sadly.
On the flip-side, it also serves as gallows humor, a way for the captain of the ship to maintain his own composure and boost crew morale. Not that we always have to keep a stiff upper lip. I'm all for crying. I may have even shed a tear myself on certain occasions. I teach the boys, especially at the passing of family members and their pet, that being sad is part of being happy. It's not a disruption in the proper order of things, not a straying from a purely happy timeline we might otherwise ideally inhabit. It's an essential part of the story we are living that belongs here in this chapter, on this page, right where it is. Which is not to say there's a secret order to things and if we only understood we wouldn't be sad. No, not in my view at least.
When I told the boys my dear mom, their wonderful grandmother had died unexpectedly, I cried. I didn't try not to. I didn't hide how sad I was and would be for some time. I also told the boys how much joy they had brought mom in their 7 years of life, maybe the happiest years of her life. I also told them how much love she had poured into them in that time, love that had helped form them into the beautiful boys they were.
Sweet Leo said through tears "I just wish it could have been more than 7 years."
"I do too, honey. I do too," I said.
But my sadness for time cut short was increasingly tempered by gratitude for the 7 years we did have. Mom didn't think she was going to be a grandmother. I was 46 when the boys were born. By all appearances the gig was up. But the boys' mother and I snuck those boys in just under the wire! Bless her heart, mom never let on how much she wanted grandchildren. I had no idea. But the love she had for those boys. I sometimes wonder if she loved them even more, somehow, than me.
Anyhow, as sad and dazed as the boys were, they took courage I think because they sensed, along with the real turmoil, the peace, strength and renewed love of life I brought back with me from the depths of my grief. Children hear what we say, but take in so much more than that from us. They evolved to be deeply attuned to their parents. And so they felt safe, that even amidst this loss and sadness, they were safe.
Despite pressure from some well-meaning friends not to delay breaking the news, I did delay and I took the time I needed to grapple with a deep grief that had rocked me. And thank god I did, because down in the muck, in the bedrock of my grief I discovered a bountiful, sweet-water spring of gratitude that saved me and gave me solace and hope to share with the boys.
Well that got intense all of a sudden! But that's what it's like up in here. Which is another function of dad jokes: comedic relief, tension cutters, release valves for the intensity of it all, for our fervency. Love is great, the goodest of all goods, but even love can feel like too much of a good thing sometimes.
I don't want to ever smother the boys, crowd them, cramp their style. So I teach them to PLEASE, for example, tell me to fuck off (not in those words) if they don't want me to sit down next to them or talk to them or something. I love to hear them say 'Dad, could you not sit there? I want to be alone.' Hearing them kindly but directly self-advocate and express their needs is just MWAAA, chef's kiss. And I think dumb-dad, self-deprecating humor keeps us humble, right sized, and helps us stay in service to our family rather than revert to the front-and-center egotism of our old ways.
After the boys were born, I was out and about with them a lot. I'd walk all around Seattle with both of them on my chest in their double baby bjorn thing. People went bananas for it. I'd get stopped like I was a celebrity or something (especially at Costco for some reason) and people would ask to take their picture with us. I was a proud motherfucking peacock I tell you walking around town with those boys (still am, fellas) so I loved taking those pictures and always said yes. Afterward, people often offered me some folk wisdom like "Don't blink. Before you know it, they'll be off to college!" Uh huh, I'd say, and nod politely while trying really hard not to roll my eyes. But they were right. And I secretly knew it and was already bracing for it. If we could track down any of those now ancient photos scattered far and look carefully we would surely see it in my eyes.
Well it's late, and this post is already over-ripe, and we should both go to bed. I'll wrap it up with one last over-share, the prayer I've been reciting to the boys since they were 2:
"You are the best boys that ever were or ever will be and no dad has ever loved his boys more than I love you. Every day and every night, dad gives thanks for James and Leo, his gifts of God, though he knows that never can he give enough thanks for gifts so great as you... Now it's time to snooze, so close your eyes, calm your bodies, quiet your voices and go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning unless I see you first in my dream. And if I do, go ahead and wave to me. I promise not to embarrass you in front of your dream-friends. You did a good job today, boys, just like you always do...."
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