If I Spontaneously Combust…
I can not overstate how much I don’t want my children to ever join the Dead Parent’s Club.
I understand that being inducted puts them in league with such noted members as Superman, Batman, Flash, Green Lantern, Spider-Man, Robin, even Elsa & Anna — and that membership could set my two amazing boys down the path to becoming inspired symbols of hope and selflessness
But it’s not the route I’d choose for them…mostly because…I don’t want to die.
Right now they’re 3 and 6, and I want to live to see them live. I want to introduce them to all of my interests, and watch them discover all their own various interests.
I want to clap proudly at graduations big (College) and small (Caribbean-based Medical School). I want to be there at every karate-belt commencement, chess tournament, oboe concert and art exhibition - but beyond all the successes, wins, and trophy ceremonies, I also want that quiet satisfaction a parent gets from watching (from a far), as their child picks themself up from defeat and gets back to trying to accomplish whatever they set their mind to.
If my wife & I do this parenting thing right, our children will know that when they grow up, they can be forces of nature. And I love watching The Weather Channel, so I’d like to be here for all of it.
I dream of being there when they get married to someone they truly love and respect…someone else’s kid…whose life will be made fuller by the love and presence of my kid. Both of the boys’ weddings will be lovely affairs, and the cocktail hour hors d’oeuvres are going to be second to none.
You absolutely must try the duck!
Amongst many, many other things (meeting their best friend, telling them it’s okay they don’t like playing the oboe anymore, teaching them that once the lego-thing is built - that’s pretty much all you can do with it, telling them I didn’t like their two-bit, double-crossing, best friend anyway), I want to see them become parents, I want to see them become grandparents, heck, I want to see them become great-grandparents…and it’s all because, and I’m being honest here, I really really don’t want to die.
Growing up, my own mother used to love belting out the chorus to Irene Cara’s spandex 80s’ anthem, Fame, “I’m gonna live for eeeev-er!”
And you know what? She’s still with us, so what I’m attempting here, is to follow in her footsteps.
But…if the worst should happen…and I spontaneously combust — here are some things I want you boys to know:
Daddy loves you.
Also, if you have to go potty, and there’s a bathroom around, go potty. Even if there’s a cleaner potty 10-minutes away, or you’re on your way home and you can hold it. You never know when you’ll hit traffic, or the subway will have delays, or the elevator will get stuck, or the plane will be instructed to just chill on the tarmac, or that other, cleaner bathroom, only has single-ply toilet paper. Just go.
Everything else you need to know about life can be gleamed from the internet, or learned by watching people play with a piñata.
Oh! And get a credit card that earns you points. That’s huge. If you decide to redo the floors of your home one day, and need to spent a few nights at a hotel, points are super helpful. Check out the SPG/Bon Voy card.
Regarding my earthly possessions: Everything is mommy’s.
Everything is mommy’s.
Mommy is and always has been the voice of calm arbitration and authority in the house. She can do with my stuff as she pleases, even if that’s “up-cycle it to make more room in the closet.”
If you get into Superman, know that I’ve got every one of his comics (including most major crossovers), bagged & boarded, from 1988 to present. Claim them before cleaning day and read them.
If you’re not into Superman, I get it. Just ask mommy to give all that stuff to Uncle Ryan…he’ll hold on to it until you realize The Man of Steel is the best…or sell it to the appropriate people and give you the money so you can invest it in smarter things…like CGC-rated comics.
If it was a banana peel, or an open manhole cover, or I drowned in a ball pit, or even if it was pinky-toe cancer (which is a serious form of melanoma) please laugh at the absurdity.
If it was a heart attack or aneurysm—please know that I’m sorry. I should definitely have eaten healthier and exercised more. Granted, there’s a chance nothing would have prevented my body from having a terminal hiccup…life is stupid like that…but at least, if I’d eaten one less full pizza a week, we all could have agreed, “I tried.”
People don’t think ill of, or shake their heads at, people who die in car accidents — so long as they were wearing their seatbelts, weren’t trying to beat an oncoming train, and weren’t driving drunk.
Don’t try to beat the train.
Always wear your seatbelt.
Never drive drunk.
Specific to this last point, know that I really wanted to teach you to drive. To be next you, feigning calmness, as you learned which one is stop (the break) and which one is go (the other one). I would never have taught you to drive stick shift, so no worries there.
Also, there would have been a sunny Sunday morning when you asked to borrow the car, and I’d have made you hand-wash it before taking it out. I’d have been proud of you that day. You’d have been proud of yourself. It would have been beautiful even though you’d have hated me for it.
If it was a plane crash, know that, statistically, it’s the safest way to travel and the odds were in my favor — which is exactly what I’ll have been psychotically telling the other passengers before we all passed out from depressurization.
If it was a helicopter crash, kindly give me a break here. Everyone knows those things are wicked dangerous, but who passes up a chance to ride in a helicopter?!? (Ask mommy about the time I rode in the MetLife Blimp!).
Listen to your mother.
Listen to your grandparents and aunts and uncles too.
Heck, if your mother moves on after some time, and a new father-figure enters your life and home, and he’s good to your mother and you guys, listen to him too. And while we’re on the subject, let’s discuss two things about this dude.
First — he’s not your father and never will be and everyone knows it, so don’t yell it at him in a heated arguement. It’s cliche.
I’m your dad. I always will be, and I love you.
Second — I have no idea what circumstances “Buddy” has been through to land him here, as your surrogate dad, living with your widowed mother, who’ll never love him as much as she loved me. Maybe he lost someone of his own, maybe his b*tch ex-wife took his children and moved somewhere far away. Maybe he’s a physical trainer with the washboard abs your mother always deserved to lie upon.
Don’t be too hard on the guy…unless he’s into Marvel…or sports.
Oh! And if this dude has children of his own, please don’t fantasize about your step-sister(s). It’s gross and I really don’t get it.
I know it’s 2019 and we’re not supposed to shame anyone for anything they’re into, but like, really? Incest porn? Whatever happened to just thinking about the sexy librarian with creative ideas about how you can pay off that late fee?
That said, IF, upon hitting puberty, the step-sister thing is your thing, I guess, you be you…but for god’s sake, keep it together — and congrats — the internet is like tailor-made for you.
On the subject of puberty and god; I wish I could have been there at your Bar Mitzvahs — not that we’re super religious — but it takes months of practice to read a five thousand year old language without vowels, and to do it, in song, while your voice is cracking, in front of your family and dearest friends, definitely would have made me cry (and laugh…just a little…to myself).
After the service — no — before the service, and after the service, every morning, every day, and every night, dance. Dance, at first, like no one’s watching…and later, when everyone is watching, dance like everyone’s watching…and don’t leaving anything on the dance floor.
Dance, at first, like no one’s watching…and later, when everyone is watching, dance like everyone’s watching.
Interpret that nugget as both as a literal mandate, and a metaphor.
Here are others you should live by everyday and not treat as metaphors:
- Be Kind
- Be Smart
- Be Creative
- Learn Something
- And Have Fun
Be whatever you want to be, but remember, you can’t be everything you want to be all at once, so pick a direction and zig. I promise life will force you to zag, and it will be scary, but beneficial and you’ll be better for it.
Ultimately, be so good at whatever you throw yourself into that you make people cry. (Unless you throw yourself into becoming a dentist, or a phlebotomist…in which case, tears are likely not the best KPI).
I’ve cried a lot since becoming a parent. I used to say the only thing that could make me cry was the movie Bambi. But these days, I find myself crying during emotional mouthwash commercials. It’s good for the body and soul to have a good cry from time to time.
Be good to yourselves. For sure, care for and about others, but prioritize your own physical and mental health and don’t be ashamed of any perceived shortcomings. You are perfect.
My own father told me, just before he got into the family car and left me at college, “Life’s real problems can be solved with WD-40. Everything else is an opportunity.”
It is my prayer that, over the course of your long, fruitful, rewarding life, you figure out what he was trying to say. Grandpa’s a weirdo.
Lastly, while my raison d’etre definitely became working to give you a wonderful, long, fruitful, stress-free life — if you come upon a situation where most people are running away from danger…run against that tide and be a helper. Be a hero.
If I’m around, I’ll be at the honor ceremony and mourn you. And if I’m not, I’ll welcome you into eternity with open arms.
Because even if the worst should happen, I will always be with you.
Love,
Your Father
P.S. If you get psoriasis, that was me. Sorry.
