Laid-Off Dad

Prices these days

I am a fan of the Boston Red Sox, partly because I come from a long line of frugal, impassive New Englanders, and partly because I grew up with a deep, abiding hatred for the Evil Empire. My painful memories range from Bucky Effing Dent to Aaron Effing Boone, though coming back from down 3-0 in the 2004 ALCS did a lot to purge the demons. As I age mature, I've tried to make my sports loyalties about the love, rather than the raging, volcanic antipathy. It's easier now that my boy is such a huge Yankee fan. (Although the rings help.) And I'm especially happy that when the Sox and Yankees play each other, Robert feels no hesitation when it comes to trash-talking his old man. ("Hey, Daddy! Giambi just hit a three-run ding-dong! How 'bout them apples?")

In the city, the relationship between Sox and Yankee fans has mellowed. Gone are the days when I would attend Yankee games with my Sox hat on and be told by pinstriped yobs to go attempt something incestual or biologically impossible. The bar scenes can still be a little sketchy, however, so many of us Sox fans feel most comfortable in the handful of Soxeasies that dot the five boroughs. These are places were a fella can bust out the red and blue and scream lustily for Papi and Yook to knock one off the Mawnstah.

One such Soxeasy is a few blocks from the apartment, and after I walked in the door the other night the ID checker tapped me on the shoulder and handed me a $10 bill. "This dropped out of your wallet," he said. I thanked him, and he said, "It's no bother. Hardly enough to buy a gallon of milk and a gallon of gas."

So I went and bought a gallon of beer.

Five things

Another Saturday, another 10 hours of running from and after and around my children. And by the end I was eight kinds of bushed. Robert began the day as he usually does by reporting for duty, in full dress uniform, at 7am. The rain had stopped, so as far as he was concerned we were burnin' daylight, people! There are grounders to gather! Fences to scale! Bases to round! Mud to inhale!

We got to the field--a pastoral patch wedged between the FDR and a power plant thought up by Brazil's production designer--well before we needed to, but Robert had to check the field for wet spots and supervise the laying down of chalk lines. He played his three innings, then he played another inning with a shorthanded team, then he found his buddies and played tag, and pepper, and something to do with lasers on the handball court.

At 3 I had to drag him away from all this in order to get lunch and help set up TwoBert's third birthday party. Cupcakes and cavorting in the playground. No fuss, minimal muss. At his request, the birthday boy was appointed lead photographer, and now my Elph is coated with a fine patina of strawberry icing. (Another choice by the honoree; the kid just can't get enough Red 40.)

As we were walking home, Robert and I got to talking about school. His first year is winding down, and I was curious what his impressions were. Then I asked him: "If you could choose five things to study in school, what would they be?" The answers were:

1. Nature.
2. How to build a car engine.
3. Hunting animals. ("Wait, you mean like, 'hunting'? With a gun?" "No, Dad, animals that hunt. With their fangs.")
4. Why water is wet.
5. The planets, especially Earth and Jupiter.

I'm especially eager to see how #4 breaks out.

Reflected light

The book signing did not disappoint. Quite the reverse, in fact. It uplifted. It enchanted. It endrunkened. I don't think anyone was prepared for the breadth of the turnout; I know the publisher wasn't, because the books sold out in the first hour. Lines of "bloupies" (you can see my picture if you scroll down) stretched out the door; most were there to see the First Couple, but a good number saw me off to the side and said very nice things about my writing and my boys. So I left the event very happy, and with a new appreciation for the life of a Pip.

It is also important not to underestimate the power of the Dooce, who got up at way-butt-early o'clock on Utah time, withstood six minutes of willful ignorance, and then chatted with, posed with, hugged, and/or knitted sweaters for everyone who came out and waited so patiently, until the lot of us had to clear out of the bar. She was resplendent and indefatigable from start to finish, and I'm not just saying that because without her I would have spent the night getting grass stains out of Robert's baseball uniform.

As special and strange as the night was, the most surreal moment came just as were leaving for Cringe. I had ducked out of the klieg lights and into the bathroom. It was my first respite from the mayhem, so I did what any normal person would do -- I started twittering. (It was an excellent display of multi-tasking, if I say so myself.) And right after I had finished twittering in the bathroom, Bill brandished his cell phone and said, "Dude, did you just twitter in the bathroom?"

Sometimes the immediacy of social networking can take the wind right out of you.