Tart, Assertively Disaffected

Young man was back in town.   His name, a homophone for chaos in Chinese and though he has an anarchic strain, he’s a wonderful budding intellect I’ve watched mature over a decade and we all smiled to see him.  Do the youngsters want to do a puzzle?  No dad.  Do the youngsters want beer?  Well, the ones who are guests that are the fellas, not my offspring, would be just fine with that.   

He’s over in Canada now, not far from Toronto.  He seems to be doing well. He’s the same as he always was: tart, assertively disaffected, bragging about his disengagement in a way that feels engaged. His brother whom I still see all the time, mostly at the gym has a different temperament but is similarly contemplative.  He will graduate tomorrow along with my daughter.  His older brother acts like he doesn’t care about this.  The brag about how much they don’t care about each other and it feels like undeniable caring.  My daughters are very happy to see them both.

On the screen saver in my room their pictures come up from time to time when they were eight, and when they were twelve and when they were fifteen and now when they are men.  I don’t feel any older but they have clearly metamorphisized along with my daughters into something that no longer is what was.  Me too.  Sure.  I only feel consistent. 

I try to imagine the older one over in a school there near Toronto.  It sounds cold.  I assume he fits in.  It sounds multicultural.  I’m quite sure he fits in.  He is interested in things my daughters are not.  So is his brother.  Boys, sometimes claim their passions and wear them on their shirts differently, perhaps out of need.  I wonder about my own girls one of them, heading to California.  What a remarkable blossoming awaits and yes, I wonder if I will recognize that flower, later, further on in its bloom. 

Friday, 5/24/19