Makes No Difference Who You Are

Ingolstadt  

I was at Disneyland for the Fourth of July (or, as dogs refer to it, Annual Armageddon Day). And while normally I chafe at Disney’s corporate worldview and misogynist fairy tales in perpetuity, I get why the Mouse House boasts that it’s the happiest place on earth.

If you’re the right age, perhaps it is.

Sitting on the ledge of a fountain in downtown Disney in Anaheim, I saw a dad walking his son, perhaps three, to the water to toss in a coin and make a wish.

He handed a penny to the boy — dressed head to toe in a tiny Los Angeles Angels baseball uniform — and told him to make a wish. The boy gazed at the cent, new and tangerine shiny.

penny

“Make a wish and throw it in,” Dad said.

Without hesitation, the child hurled it into the fountain. Then he teetered perilously over the ledge to look at the shimmering coin floor, at least half of which was silver.

Dad tottered the boy back from the fountain before it became a mini swimming pool. He stooped behind his son, and wrapped a hand around him and over his stomach, speaking into his ear.

“Do you know what a wish is?” dad asked. The boy shook his head.

“A wish is something you want,” the dad said, rummaging for another penny. “Take this, think of something you want, and toss in the coin. Maybe it will come true.”

You could almost see the light bulb go off. And I realized I was witnessing a child learning how to wish. What a human experience. How many times would he exercise this new skill, to daydream? And for what will he pine, aside from being a Big Leaguer? Bringing a stuffed animal to life? calvinLiving in Disneyland? And in years to come; falling in love? Getting into school? Being a father?

One thing was certain: Dad had better keep a pocketful of change from this day forward. Because whenever they pass a fountain, kid’s gonna want wishing moolah.

Clearly, he got the concept.  Dad asked if he understood. Kid nodded like a stoner at a Metallica concert. Yes, yes, yes. Now where’s that penny?

Dad put it into his boy’s hand. Kid hesitated for a second, closed his fingers and looked at his tiny clench. And concentrated. Furrowed his brows while he decided on a wish, as if the wrong one could bring calamity. He drew his arm back, more assured this time.

“I want more money!” he yelled, throwing the coin twice as deep into the fountain this time.

Dad stood up and turned around. He dropped his hand, extending an index finger. Kid reached over his head and clasped the finger as he had the Lincoln head. They walked back to a family of a half dozen.

“You know,” the dad said. “Sometimes I wish for that, too.”

 

Every Day, for Once

 

I dreamed of Michael last night.

Like 99.4% of my dreams, I don’t remember the details. Just that we are always doing normal stuff, kids killing time. And when I wake up, I feel uplifted, charged for a nebulous reason. Like we’d just spoken on the phone, or I just left his place.

He always charged me a little. Perhaps because we geeked over the same things — The Simpsons and Star Wars. And we both knew way too much about documentaries and sports.

But I don’t remember those times. Like when we were playing tennis and he dove on a cement court and was a wounded ring bearer. Or the time we met a derelict woman who spewed accusations that we, er, knew each other biblically. Or his medicated voicemails. Or the day he told me he wanted to be a donor. They would all become fond dinnertime stories. But not the taproot of these dreams. preop

Nor do I think I replay the dark chapter, when Michael set sail for Mortal Waters. Not the time he told us of the brain tumor. Or when he came to see mom and downplayed falling in the living room. Or kissing him on the forehead goodbye in the wheelchair. I don’t see those visions revisited, either.

Instead, we are always doing day-to-day things. Working side-by-side in a theater; cracking up at crappy fast food joints; frantically searching for our tickets before we’d walk into a premiere (Michael once toyed with legally naming himself Plus One).

preopWell, shit.

No wonder I feel warmed by the dreams. How can you not when the everyday feels extraordinary?

Dog Dad Afternoon

 

I have cohabited with canines for at least the last 25 years. So, and I mean this literally, I’ve been a dad for more than a quarter century.

But Sunday was the first time I felt Father’s Day.

Perhaps because it was the first without my father. Or maybe I’ve finally teetered into that creepy ‘dog guy’ zip code, which is ‘cat lady’ adjacent.

Regardless, Fortuna blessed me with something Hallmark could never sell, let alone sloganize.

I was in Big Bear, which is so jaw-droppingly beautiful I lack the vocabulary to insult it with a description. Esme was there, too, because Esme finds doggie daycare living as packed as dimples on a raspberry.

As we sat in downtown Big Bear, underneath the dwindling shade of a dwindling tree, two women, perhaps in their 50’s, waddled past, their arms struggling to hoist the bags from trendy mountain-town shops.

Then, I hear one lady say to her shopping pal, “I can’t stand the look of Boston Terriers. French bulldogs are so much prettier.” Said it not to me, but in a loud, nasally squawk to her friend. As if she usually talked over traffic.

I didn’t do the heroic thing. I didn’t get in her face, raise my voice, point a finger or shred her with a quip about how hypocritical it was to critique appearance when you’ve got the figure of a fire hydrant, too (though Esme doesn’t try layer).

Instead, I watched, mouth agape, as they strolled past. Either not realizing I heard them, or not caring. Suddenly, I thought, ‘So that’s why parents beat each other silly at Little League anything.’

Esme, of course, was the maturest of the bunch. She was watching an actual horse, pulling a cart of tourists through downtown.horsie And her feelings didn’t seem nearly as fazed as mine. She’s sleeping now, and doesn’t know I’m writing this. But, on this fading Father’s Day, a message to fashion critics. And that lady:

Take a look at that top picture.

And try to tell me of beauty.

http://youtu.be/PyxLaHmOaYM