It's Daylight Savings Eve, and the boys and I are celebrating the extra hour with a double feature MegaMind and Captain America. Tales of heroes, villains, and villains who become heroes, ensarled in epic battles of world conquest.
This is the 10yo's favorite adjective. Everything is EPIC. The latest Riordan book he's reading. The tackle that guy made. Last night's barbecue-chicken tacos. He uses it so much that he dilutes its meaning terribly. Like the unfortunate souls who describe anything moderately favorable as AWESOME.
So I told him: The true show of EPIC is the storm that slammed into his home town and devastated his dad's home state. We've looked at so many pictures, read so many stories, watched so much network news. The amount of destruction has been awesome, in the truest sense, but he's only 10. It's still seems like a movie to him.
And the truth is, I feel as weirdly distanced from it as he does.
My sons may have moved on to their new lives as Michiganders, but I'm still feeling a surprising amount of survivor's guilt. I was there right before it happened, for a Dad 2.0 Summit event, and I skedaddled out of town not 24 hours before they shut down the subways. I should be there now, opening up my home to people who need to recharge, literally and figuratively.
Even though the power is coming back on, and the subways are mostly running again, the fan blades are still coated in shit. People need help, and I'm going back a few days early for Thanksgiving to see what I can do.
I've been keeping tabs on the NYC Service FB page and Twitter feed, and I'm looking for something I can do during that week. If you've volunteered, or know someone who has, please send me some leads in the comments.
