It all started with tiny muddy foot prints literally seconds after I mopped the house. This quickly moved to very loud noises in the early dawn hours “thinK” karate chopping wood at 6:00 AM with all the verbal sound effects. Snot, Snoogies, tiny germ infested hands in everything, sneeze bombs. More than one episode of attempting to quietly sneak into the house after midnight was foiled with heinous lego land mines attacking my bare feet, I was losing the battle.
Of all the things I never expected to do this year living with a 6 year old tops my list. As a writer I need my quiet time to lay my stories to ink. My personal space was invaded, every request questioned and the mess… don’t even get me started about kids, who needs em! It was a tough transition, definitely more stressful than being a war photojournalist. For me communicating with aliens or even women for that matter is a far easer prospect than communicating with a child. With time the tension eased and life became tolerable, then enjoyable, then it happened, how I’ll never know.
The day they moved aboard their new boat my life suddenly found an empty space. The quiet was killing me, it was like having a missing arm, life went on but it just wasn’t the same. Somehow, and I will never know how, that little fucker wormed his way into my heart. Its easy to go through life never knowing what you are missing but once you know life will never be the same. They are still filthy little monsters but not so scary once you pull the mask off.
I’m not saying saying I would be a perfect leader for a little ocean tribe but I did manage to take 120 boy scouts on the New York City Subway and didn’t lose one of them. I’m just saying…
“If your kid needs a role model and you ain’t it, you’re both fucked.”