A beginning, of sorts.

All life is about beginnings and endings, in one way or another. For myself, life as stay at home dad recently began and will end in approximately four months. I hope to create a record of sorts here, of what I did with this time. Perhaps more importantly, I hope it will serve as a record for my son of both him and me at a point in his life that he (and even me for that matter) is unlikely to remember, although my earliest memory is of walking for the first time (go ahead and ask my mom, it happened just like I remember it, and let's just say I walked before I was 6). In any case, I hope to write something that he might have at least a passing interest in reading some day. But I won't be writing directly to him, cause I think that's just too weird to read.

I initially conceived of putting pen to paper here during an evening where my son was particularly unhappy about the prospect of going to sleep and was making quite the ruckus. Social convention dictates that I now add that my son is a very happy, joyous, loving, intelligent, alert, inquisitive, advanced, and progressive child. I don't want to put too fine a point on it, but he is in general, a great baby. But in this instance, he yelled, loudly, and at considerable length. So much so that a random person might take it upon themself to offer the opinion that there is something wrong with him. Which is what happens every time we take a long flight. OK so we have only taken two long flights, but random strangers offered this opinion both times. I wonder at which point it occurs to certain individuals that it would be a good idea to inform parents that they feel something might be wrong with a baby who is unhappy on a plane. Of course there is ruddy well something wrong, he hates being on an airplane. Which, come think of it, isn't much different from the general population. The only thing different is that babies (and children to a lesser extent) are more or less free to express themselves exactly as they feel at any particular point in time. Do you know that screaming child at IKEA? Have you seen that guy at IKEA on the verge of tears as he mulls his stunningly modern Swedish design options for furnishing his home? Same person. The only thing separating them is a few years and the general dignity that prevents most adults from completely losing it in furniture stores. Not that I long for a world where everyone acts like babies. Rather, I am more interested in the aspects of our demeanor first expressed in childhood and how they manifest (or not) in adulthood. Which is what I somehow hope to capture here. Or maybe I will just write about being a dad.