zen.org Communal Weblog

I went running up the stairs with some laundry, trying to do some tidying up on an overcast Saturday morning. As I passed Patrick’s bedroom in the upstairs hallway, I heard Patrick’s friend Dario whisper not very quietly, “Your dad scared me!”

“Why’d he scare you, Dario?” Patrick asked.

“He came up so fast! He surprised me.”

“That’s okay, Dario,” Patrick reassured him matter-of-factly. “You don’t have to be scared, my Dad is a really nice man.”

(Melt.)

June 24th was my last day at NEC, July 1st was sure to be the start of a good weekend before starting my new job at Princeton University. I had just come home in the car with Zoë, we where sitting on the front porch watching the thunder storm.

Then the wind started picking up. A wind like no other I have ever witnessed. Usually when one looks at wind there are a few leaves blowing in no discernible direction. The debris so populated the fast moving torrent that it looked as if I could see the wind. A wall of cluttered, at least as big as my view was advancing towards my house. I took Zoë and went inside.

Seconds after I was inside I heard a noise. A large crash, that I’m sure was impressive, but was dwarfed by the visual of the wind wall still fresh in my mind. The entire house jerked. Without hesitation, I was out the back door clutching Zoë.

Not looking back, I noticed my neighbors house, it had no large trees looming over it. Banging on his door, I heard him call from upstairs that he was comming down to let me in. The problem was he had recently broke his leg, and didn’t move very fast. A branch hit an electric pole on the street, and sparks started flying. I hid Zoë the best I could behind the the storm door, she finally started crying. Joe, my neighbor, opend the door, we were inside.

A half hour later the sun was shining again, though the ground was soaked. The path I took from my back door to Joe’s house was covered with branches that fell from the tree. The car had a six inch diameter branch laying on the now dented roof. The front porch we where sitting on had been detached, branches stuck into the attic. A very tall, very heavy oak tree lay on my house. I was happy, Zoë and I were safe.

During lunch, three year-old Patrick posed a new question. “Want to hear a joke, Dad?”

“Sure!”

“Okay,” he said with obvious build-up, “why does a bee like to go into a drink?” His eyes glittered with anticipation.

“Umm, because they’re thirsty?”

“No!” he announced. “Because it turns green!!” A grin and giggling followed the punch line.

I didn’t get it, and if pressed (why you’d do this I don’t know) he probably didn’t either. But that doesn’t matter—his brain has recently processed the proper telling of a joke. Synapses continue to fire up there in a display as spectacular as fireworks over Boston on the Fourth of July.

Boy, it’s been a long time since I wrote an entry. I’ve been too busy, and to lazy to post. Works been dull, and home is always busy. I finally have a chance today, day care called me up and told be to pick up Zoë as she has a 101.5°F fever. As 余艾蕾 and I drove in on the same car this morning, and neither was terribly busy at work, we both left. Zoë is the happiest sick baby ever, but rules are rules and she is not allowed back to dagis until she has gone twenty-four hours without a fever. As 余艾蕾 has stuff to do at work tomorrow, I’ll stay home with Zoë, and then Monday is a holiday. So I have a four and a half day weekend with a baby that has a fever but don’t act sick.

Tonight Patrick was in the livingroom with his empty cup sitting on the table. He’d finished a half a glass of sparkling water (“bubbles”), and now decided he needed more. He told his Mom as much, but she knew he shouldn’t have any more and declined the request. Patrick made a couple of further demands, resorting to begging but still no luck. Disappointed, he stopped trying.

Well, until I entered the room.

“Dad,” he said to me, his eyes wider than should be possible, “I want some more bubbles.”

I looked over at his Mom questioningly, and she said, “No, Patrick, I told you that was enough for tonight.”

As I glanced back to Patrick, his face was the image of mischief brewing at a low temperature. “Daaaaaad,” he did in his best falsetto, like a kid in a classroom trying to cheat with his buddy at the next desk, “I want more bubbles.” The whispers were almost too quiet to hear. Almost.

I shook my head. “Noooooooooo,” I whispered back. We’re both within a couple of feet of Mom, who’s sitting right next to him on the couch.

“Patrick!” his Mom exclaimed. “You know I said you couldn’t, and now I caught you trying anyway!”

He gave a foolish grin and launched his head (gently) over into her side. “Mommm…”

So this is where it all starts, playing one against the other and trying to trip us up. This is going be a kick.

FADE IN.

EXT. HOUSE IN IRELAND – NIGHT.

INT. HOUSE UPSTAIRS BEDROOM – NIGHT.

We have a CLOSE LOOK at a clock just reaching 9 AT NIGHT. Some dim light comes in through the Venetian blinds visible through the BEDROOM DOORWAY, even though it’s so late. DAD has just finished reading a chapter of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to SON, and is now going to finish up some work from earlier in the day.

C.U. of DAD as he walks out of the bedroom and enters the HALL towards the SMALLER BEDROOM, its door wide open. SON, a three year-old boy, is lying on his bed in the BEDROOM we’ve just left. As shown in the previous scene, SON has been very active all day, and his recent eating habits suggest he must be at the beginning of another growth spurt. We’d expect him to be exhausted.

DAD
Good night, Patrick, I love you. It’s time to go to sleep.

SON (OS)
That’s why I don’t want to, because I don’t want to.

INT. HOUSE UPSTAIRS SMALLER BEDROOM – NIGHT.

We see DAD sit down in front of his computer in a room clearly converted into a home office. Some of SON’s toys are on the upper shelves, next to piles of book still waiting to be sorted. DAD turns on the computer MONITOR and starts to type an entry into his WEBLOG.

SON (OS)
Bad dad. Bad daddy. It’s not fair. It’s not fair da-da!

Pause.

SON (OS)
Dad! I don’t want to go to sleep.

C.U. on the MONITOR. The words “Bedtime and a 3 year-old” begin to APPEAR, one letter at a time.

SON (OS)
(Emphasis.)
I don’t want—to—go—to—sleep. It’s really not late.

DAD (OS)
Of course it is.

SON (OS)
It’s not. It isn’t late. It’s the morning. It’s the morning and I don’t want to go to sleep.

Pause.

INT. HOUSE UPSTAIRS BEDROOM – NIGHT.

A small red light BLINKS every 30 seconds from the SMOKE DETECTOR up on the ceiling. Packing tape over the bulb doesn’t fully block the small amount of light it’s EMITTING.

CAMERA PANS down to SON, who’s lying on his back looking up at the SMOKE DETECTOR. SON’s index finger is absent-mindedly MOVING over his lips.

SON
The light keeps going on me, and I need you. I need you da-da, I need you.

Pause.

SON clenches his jaw and squeezes his EYES shut.

SON
Right now right now right now.

We hear the SOUND of a chair moving, and then footsteps as DAD comes walking into SON’s bedroom, clearly exasperated. DAD helps roll SON onto his side and tucks the FAVORITE BLANKET back around SON.

SON
(Rolling over.)
Read me some more of the story, Dad. Or, how about—

DAD looks worried.

SON
(continuing, actively rubbing his eyes with his clenched hands)
—the Truck book?

DAD
No, we’ll read that together tomorrow.

SON
Okay, how about—More of Charlie and the Factory?

Helpless to this request, DAD reaches to the bookshelf and pulls down the BOOK. He sits on the floor next to SON’s bed and begins to read.

DAD
The newspaper told Grandpa Joe there was a winner of the second Golden Ticket …

Some music PLAYS as DAD continues to read the BOOK out loud and CAMERA PANS to the old clock on the wall.

DISSOLVE.

The clock’s hands have MOVED, showing us that it’s THREE MINUTES LATER.

CAMERA PANS from the clock back to the bed, where SON is clearly fast asleep with his hand just in front of his face. We HEAR a light snore and level breathing. In the background, the SOUND of the clock ticking.

DAD puts the BOOK back on the shelf. He makes sure the FAVORITE BLANKET is fully covering SON, and walks out.

MONTAGE/END TITLES.

FADE OUT.

Zoë has reached a major milestone. No longer can I put Zoë down and turn auround, and then assume she will be in a foot of where I put her when I turn back. If I really zone she could end up in the dining room.

I did, however, follow her around a little and she found some specs of dirt I would of never found without her. Thus helping with the house work.

余艾蕾 is at a bachelorette party tonight, so it’s Zoë and I. For dinner I’m making myself mashed rutabaga and succotash. Mashing root vegetables while holding a baby is difficult. Any suggestions? She refuses te be put down.

I put Zoë in the car this morning, strapped her down to the car seat. There she sat with wisps of breath comming out of her due to the twenty degree Fahrenheit weather we are having. I had never seen her breath before. Not a complaint from her.

In the mid-1990s, I picked up maintenance of a mailing list set up by some folks at MIT. Called CACI: Children Accessing Controversial Information, it was intended to offer a forum for parents, teachers, or just about anyone else to talk about the free anarchy of the Internet and its potential impact on children. With all the fear of porn and pedophilia lurking at every corner on the Net, we thought it’d be a fairly active list.

This is how the list describes itself:

CACI, Children Accessing Controversial Information, is a mailing list for
discussing children accessing controversial information through computer
networks. Can children be prevented from accessing materials which are
controversial? Is preventing access even desirable? We believe censorship is
not the answer. What alternatives do we have or could we provide? How do we
talk with children about these issues? What can we say to concerned parents
and school administrators? How and by whom are community standards set? We
hope to form a community of people interested in discussing these issues and
developing helpful materials.

For the last few years, however, it’s been pretty stagnant with only short bursts of conversation. I wonder if everyone is just so firmly set in their beliefs (filter my computer, don’t filter it, porn is good, porn will rot my child’s brain) that they see no need to talk about it and learn from others?