The natural restive state that I live in was on full glorious display last night to my mother-in-law. We were attending a family engagement party and came into subtle conversation about how to lay down the red carpet for most prized entry of both family’s first grandbaby. This branched into a conversation with a future, hopefully soon, aunt-in-law concerning vaccinations and their part in government roles and self-regulation. Do not worry. I am not going to bore you with anecdotals and statistics. I am just laying the groundwork for where the planted words laid to where they grew.
Come to find out some people just don’t know the facts about vaccinations. I am not the one to educate but I am one to spur a cause to look for the answers. I do hope she will look into it later. Another topical conundrum was the fight over tradition versus upstart facts. I was sad to see this particular discussion left on the oak floors to be stamped by those who have minds on Emerald City Comic Con and Prague and sexual harassment classes.
And then I had a pregnant (pardon the pun) pause myself. The mind dropped itself into first gear and the world slowed down. I am no longer the communicative dictator that I once was. More closer to the truth is that as world rotates and swerves and bounces to its intergalactic groove, those around me do the same at a similar exponential rate with the same results as myself. Scrambling to keep the single most auspicious characteristic is frightening. Oration was my sword, words made people kneel. Most of the time it was very loud words. No more. I have been trying to convey messages and scripture that I just roll off my tongue like a machine gun. The articulation is gone and only a confused jumble of pronouncements and misunderstandings lay in its wake.
The pause dissipated, the drug wearing off, the party sounds fade in and out. I am just standing there with my peanut butter ball in my hand, trying so hard not to cry. I have not worried about what kind of father I will be until now.