Less Than Two Standard Deviations | Poems of Fatherhood
Catching Up With You
How quickly they catch up,those things.The things of which you only completed half,the half that faces the street.One day there are too many,and they rise up shamblinginto the back of your mindwhere oh shit you saygotta get that done.If you send the kids to school with pizza filled lunchboxes,If you finish their homework using the internet,If you didn't pay attention at back to school night,does that mean you love them any less?If you still forgot to send the email about the thing we talked about,If you didn't make the next pot when yours was the last cup,If you saved your timecard ten minutes after it was due,does that mean that you are doing a bad job?Imagine I stand in a field playing catch at dusk with my son,while the table is set,and the roast beast is resting, ready to carveand the many many thingsthat have to get doneI ignorebecause when it comes down to ithe needs it more thanand eventually he will ask himself the same questionand I hope the answer is no.
Not What Was Promised
My problem with this isthis is not what was promised.I think it would be easier if you just never dangled the carrot,when you knew it was not even yours to dangle.I like it when people say what they meanand do what they promise,and dispense with the empty boaststhat they think will seal the deal.It starts with your parents who tell you that you can do anything,when clearly,King of Norway is not a possibility.Then your teachers tell you that with hard work and perseverence,and a quote from Thomas Edison,you too can invent the airplane or travel to the moon.When actually that has already been done.Those moments are just yellowing newspapers with ads for corsets and Hi-Fis.Where are the global think tanks promised in the movies where you work on fascinating waysto save the world and invent cold fusion?Where is this potential that we were supposed to have reached?When you find yourself in your family sedan,driving home from tiny little league victories,or volunteering at the hallowe'en carnival,does the fact that you grilled 400 burgers in three hoursmake up for your inability to have been elected President?I guess the school building fund thinks sobecause they gave you a certificate and a pretty nice bottle of wine.Yes. It is important to be average, just a few points from the mean,less than two standard deviations.But didn't they tell you that you were destined for greatness,outdistancing the pack,the front of the curve,that little part at the brim where obviously you belonged.And when you look down at your child and they ask you the same question:what will you tell them?You will look in their shiny little eyes, and you will tell them thatthey can be absolutely anything they want,an astronaut,a policeman,a pickle farmer,or the King of Norway.And you will believe it,or you will try,even harder than you tried to believe it for yourself.
Cancer Is An Asshole
Cancer is an assholethat comes to your houseand fucks with your stuffdoesn't put the dvds back in the boxespees on the seatturns the channel when you were watching somethingleaves like a half teaspoon of milk in the container andputs it right back in the fridge.It leaves the window open at nightIt takes your stuff out into the yard and leaves it thereIt punches you in the shoulder and says "hertz, donit!"It sits on your chest and spits on your foreheadIt invented the phrase "why are you hitting yourself?" as it slaps you with your own handsIt spreads rumors about you at schoolIt doesn't put the new toilet paper roll inIt shits in your mailslotIt pops your balloonIt knocks your lunch on the floorand it says "see this? It's mine now!"And you say "fucking cancer!"and it looks over its shoulder at you with a dismissive sniffand turns away like you didn't say a thing.Cancer is an assholethat kills your dador mine, at least.