Be happy!

 

Quiet pleasures.

6:50 a.m. I am pulled out of a light sleep by sounds from beyond my closed door. The cat food being poured into the aluminum dish. Noises of comfort as Noah and his cat rise together. He talks to the animal like to a baby, “who”s hungry, yeah you’re hungry, yeah who loves you, yeah, I do.”

I hear his Sasquatch feet thump thump towards my door. I’m fully expecting it to be blasted open. A second, two, three go by… no Noah.

I rearrange my position on the bed to peek through the crack in the door. Noah is standing just outside, where there’s a full length mirror. He’s examining himself. He slicks down a cowlick which immediately kicks back up.

Futile.

Yet, he tries again with a little more insistence, but no better results. He hardly seems to care as he strikes one pose after another.

I lean out of bed and pull the door open.

He freezes in a sexy look.

“Looking good, Noah.”

“I do look good, don’t I?”

This kid is so unlike me in so many ways. In almost as many ways in which he is just like me.

He has a brash arrogance and doesn’t hesitate to find himself, smart, good-looking, talented. In that way he is my polar opposite. But at times it feels like he’s whistling in the dark

Being brash to avoid being seen for the fragile thing he truly is. In that way he would be just like me.

Or maybe he’s just self-confident.

“What time is it, kid?”

“6:55.”

“Great. Five minutes left. Jump in bed so we can hug.”

He rolls into my bed but stays at a little distance.

“Did you have a good sleep dad?”

“Really great. You?”

“Oh yeah, I slept like I was dead. And Ouaga stayed with me all night, like she jumped in just when I went to bed and started purring so yeah, she put me right to sleep.”

“Sweet.”

“Yeah, I love Ouaga. And you know dad I had such a nice day yesterday, You know it was really great. I mean I played on the computer all morning and then I started organizing my room for when we’re going to repaint it, yeah, that’s going to be so cool. And then I won all my three matches at the Pokemon tournament and got a full-art special X card, yeah and then we came back and had my favorite supper and then we saw two really good animation films together. I especially liked the first one about the cat and the burglar. It was exciting even without any special effects or 3D stuff, you know? Yeah. Wow! A really great day.”

I have always been suspicious of such easy happiness. A Fool’s Paradise? Then again. Have I spent too much of my life in a Fool’s Hell?

“Hey, Noah, there’s a couple of minutes left, and I would really love a hug.”

“How, dad? You’re lying down.”

He has a grimace on his face. It’s times like this that I wish I had a daughter. She would hug me without protesting, I’m sure.

But, she probably would be too affectionate. That would annoy me.

Finally, I must recognize that I have a hard time being happy.

Period.

“Dad, you know the best part of yesterday? It was like I didn’t like expect anything, you know so when it sorta happened, it just like happened, you know?”

The alarm goes off. I lunge for it. Noah jumps on my back to stop me. He laughs like a demon as we battle to the ‘pioup pioup’ of the alarm. That’s the equivalent of a boy hug, I guess.

I finally succeed in holding him off long enough to shut off the annoying reminder that it’s Monday and I have a hundred reasons to get tense and miserable.

“Ahhhhh, that was fun.”

He throws himself down on my bed and stretches luxuriantly. I’m about to tell him that we need to get up and and…

…and the hell with it!

I drop back down beside him. We stretch and groan and …

“Oh yeah, we have like gym today, dad, youhou, I love gym. Awesome… .”

Be happy! I admonish myself! Be happy dammit!

Noah vaults over me and off the bed in one slick move. He shimmies away, singing.

“I’m sooo excited, I just can’t hide it, oh, oh…”.

Be happy dammit!

 

 

startled…

…by me

“Dadddy daaaaaddddyyyy-OOOOO-dadddyyyyy—–OOOoooooo, you’re the best daaaaadddyyyyy-oooooo I eeevvvverrrrr had. O yeah…”

He’s singing my praises again. Cute little tune, too. Kid’s got talent.

“I’m the only daddy you ever had.”

I feel like an impostor when he says I’m the best. I wonder whether he feels compelled to please me, seek my approval.

“Oh the oooonnllyyyyyyy daaaadddddy I eeeevverrr did have…the only dadddyyyy I could eeeevvvverrrr wiiisshhhh for, oh, yeah, shiboom, shiboom.”

He didn’t skip a beat.

He’s dancing, boom-boxing and air-scratching. A triple threat. I watch him and there’s not an inkling of anything dark in his face and body. He’s having fun and telling me he loves me in his inimitable way.

“Waaatccch out what you wiiiisssshhhh for, shiboom shiboom….”. I croak like a nasty cross between Dylan and Freddie Mercury.

“Ooohhhhhh yeeeaaaaaahhhh, I wiiiishhhh my daddy was haaaaaappppyyy, because I am happppyyyy because my daaaaddaaaaddaaaaddadadadddddyyy is the best….oh yeah.”

Damn.

Does my sadness fertilize his joy? Or is he joyful despite my daily struggle to survive myself?

I’ve spent his lifetime so far, wondering exactly how I would screw him up. Perhaps through some unintended alchemy of my screw ups and my insufficiencies he’s growing up happy and able.

“Ohhhhhh yeah I have I have I have the bbessssttessstt sooon ever, oh yeah, baby, oh yeah.”

There once was a wonderful African singer called the Goat because of his voice. I’m channeling him.

“My dadadadadadaaaaadddddyyyy can’t siiiinnngggg, oh no, but he’s the best oh yeah, the best daaaaaaaadddddyyy.”

“I can’t sing, but I’m haaaappppy, oh haaapppy to be me,because of yooooouuuu…”

He doesn’t miss a  beat.

“….becaaaaaaauussseee of yoooouuuu”,  on key.

“….becaaaaaaauussseee of yoooouuuu”,  off key.

Together now……

“….becaaaaaaauussseee of yoooouuuu”.

Strange and beautiful harmonies of discordant pain, past and present… and melodious joy,  present and future.

One more time….with feeling.

“….becaaaaaaauussseee of yoooouuuu”.

“….becaaaaaaauussseee of yoooouuuu”.

 

 

 

 

F word…

…Funk

“Dad, are you writing about me again?”

“Noah, I told you not to read over my shoulder.”

“But you’re writing about me.”

“Yeah, but my writing is my thoughts and feelings…”

Yes, kid, I admit this is all about me…me me me….you are the foil, the spark, the testing ground.

Me Me Me.

“…what’s more,  its private.”

“No, its not! Everybody like who has a computer or like a phone or like even a DS reads what you write.”

I wish.

“Dad, do you like, when I tell you something that’s secret do you like write about it?”

Truth? Expediency?

“Naw, never!” Expediency!

He looks at me, unconvinced.

Yes, kid, writers are thieves, grave diggers, body snatchers, soul surfers. Birds of prey. What saves my honor, is that my own entrails are my first and last meal.

“Dad, is that a bad word, funk?”

“Stop reading over my shoulder, geez!”

“Geez, breathe daddy, breathe, it was only a question.”

The greatest of joys and miseries start with an innocent question…like ‘do you love me?’….that one gave me a kid.

“So, is it, dad??”

Kids are way too focused, way too early in the morning. Its not fair.

“No, its a four letter word but its in the dictionary and its not a swear word. When someone is in a funk he’s sad, depressed, uncommunicative or angry. It can also mean a bad smell.”

“Like yesterday?  You smelled bad because  you were in a bad mood too?”

Funk off, kid.

“Yeah, the last couple of days I’ve been in a major funk.”

“You were funky! Hey, dad, thats funny…funky”

“Funky actually exists and mean cool, earthy, original. Like funky music.”

“Eh? Dad, you can smell weird, be in a bad mood and that’s cool?”

Sounds like my biography.

“Language is like so weird, dad.”

…and the world it describes is even weirder…especially the one inside.

“Sure is, kid.”

And Funk is a four letter word, like Love,  and an F word like…

“…Noah, stop reading over my shoulder.”

“Ok, ok, don’t get into a funk.”

 

joy…

…management

“Dad, yesterday was a perfect day.”

Perfect!  The exclamation marks are my effort at positive thinking.

“Yeah like it was awesome at the Pokemon tournament. Yeah, right here in Montréal, imagine a place like that, it was just like being in Tokyo at the Pokemon Center, yeah, too cool. Now I’m a member of the International Pokemon League. Imagine.”

Imagine!

“Yeah and I even beat the 14th best player in all of Canada. I’m good, huh?”

Good!

“And before that we eat a Piri Piri sandwich, it was great, hunh, dad?”

Great!

He’s checking that he forgets none of the joys by counting them out on his fingers.

“And my choice on Next Star…the best one. Charlie. She’s so hot, Charlie, even on the TV. You know dad, she chose the name Charlie because she’s like you know a girl, but with a guy style, yeah sweet!”

Sweet!

“Then you make me white pasta with just enough cheese. The best.”

The best!

“And I even went to bed a whole 55 minutes later to organize the 15 new cards I got. Wow.”

Wow!

He’s now in front of the mirror, slicking his hair down,

“You know its like the perfect yesterday is becoming a perfect today, yeah it’s the school picture and I got my hair totally untangled and you washed my chic shirt, so I’ll look real good and maybe even Keegan might notice. Dad, look ….perfect.” He poses with perfect pleasure.

Perfect!

“Do you know what dream I had last night dad? I dreamed that I was running for a plane and I was going to Hollywood for the International Pokemon Championship because I was the best Canadian player in the world. Yeah, and you were running with me. And we were laughing real hard. Fun, hunh?”

Yeah, fun!fun,

“Thanks dad for the awesomest day and for bringing me to the Tournament.”

I rub his head in response.

“Don’t muss my hair dad!”

Sorry, this morning I have no words, Noah. I’m choked up. His gratitude fuels my pain. I feel like a fraud. Does it show?

All of yesterday, I lived in a parallel universe, stifling the howls of anger and sadness and the sense of doom. As I organized and accompanied Noah on his most excellent adventures, I felt like a zombie in a virtual world. Outside of me, the world rolled on, including Noah skipping and hopping, concentrating on playing his first tournament, discovering a Pokemon community, tearing up when his fave won the Canadian teen version of Idol and enjoying everything.

I concentrated on not showing anything because everything inside was ugly.

Joy management.

Exalting Noah’s joy by becoming transparent, on the way to invisible.

As he leaves on the school bus, the smile he flashes at me has no shadows, no grasping for affection. Its a sweet. loving, joyful smile.

A foreign word…

… Joy.