The Matrix

I thought that I would faithfully write about the journey in raising my son. The more I wrote, the more solid I became in my convictions to organize this brain that wasn't mine, to train into it some alien pliable form that was not going to stay on track anyway, and otherwise teach what seemed unteachable. Daily writing brought too much verbal thinking into my own visually-oriented mind to allow me to grasp the world in which my son immersed himself. And so...I embraced my own scattered nature, my own visual and spatial world, and became a part of his world. We were much happier -not that the road was smooth- when I invited my son into our world, slowly enticing him into space, a tentative shared space, between his universe and ours. I hope to share insights from the past, present, and future as I continue to ease the transition of this young man into an adult world. The only proven method I use is ages old -- I honor who he is and help him find people and places who do the same... square pegs fit nicely into soft putty that molds around them...and the push into plasticity is gentle.

Over Easy

i ordered cap and gown
and still his eyes danced with the sea
like sparkling stars on morning waves
still the child goes out to play

the essay is mailed
some metaphor 'bout orwell
and why a man might write
or why a man be right

i peeked...i had no right...hmmm

i handed him the keys
some to the car, some to a chest
in the attic filled with hopes and yet
this child, my child, goes out to play

i peeked, i peeked...i had no right....
he sleeps with bunnies, hugged so tightly
and sings a lullaby shanty
the cap and gown were just for me

LC April 20, 2010