The things you will do for a little kid because he insists you do them ...
... or that you get to do only because you have a little kid.
You don't know the power of the Dark Side -- it's very dry and, as we're so often told, full of carcinogens.
The break of day never was the most-reassuring time for you, was it son?
You called "Da-DEE" over and over and over from your crib as your lazy, undisciplined father resisted the waking world with impunity.
You drooled into your applesauce as you watched PBS strapped into a high chair while your father slept on the couch.
You crawled on the hardwood floor to pat your father on the chest as he lay sprawled on the carpet with back spasms for days.
You had barely learned to speak when you were dribbling a basketball and dunking it on the little goal, while your father halfway opened his eyes to say "good job, son."
When your baby brother came along, there you were to set up the Playstation 2 so he could watch "Thomas The Tank Engine" as you politely told him to stop screaming at you.
And you put his shoes and socks on him.
After you finally elbow dropped your father and punched him in the face, he'd wake up, hand you a lukewarm waffle and get you to preschool 15 minutes late.
Tomorrow, on your first day of kindergarten and every work day that follows, you won't be here to be a crutch.
Your clothes are set out next to a baby picture in your room and tomorrow you will wake up with your Mom, at a decidedly earlier hour, as you will do every school day.
Tomorrow, you walk into the halls of the education branch of the Ministry of Truth and take your place on the grid and the kindergarten midday nap mat.
In the days to come, as you meander past this slumbering slab of meat each morning and wonder how your brother will survive without you, don't worry.
He will.
Promise that.
Really.
P.S. Just remember: I am your father, and I'm so very proud of you. 
---
A reluctant, yet ultimately willing, kindergartner ... 
Hmmm ... you don't say?
Add this as an exhibit in the Museum of Intense Irony.
Cur-sed Earrrrrrrth!
I was looking for the light/
To bring you out/
From the shadows/
Redefine you now for only me/
And honey I'm sure/
That you've been in love before/
Plenty of men/
Have held high places in your eyes/
And jealousy/
Has got no use for me/
The past is beautiful/
Like the darkness between the fireflies.
-- Mason Jennings
Two fireflies flash by in the mid-August evening.
Their kind emerge in June in a frenzy of ecstasy, sparkling yellow at twilight for a fleeting matter of weeks, desperate to find a woman who will reciprocate their call and ensure that their short lives will mean something when they end.
She flashes back. The lovers meet. They die. Life goes on.
Not for these two belated suitors of desperation and futility.
What was once a galaxy of pulsing light in the humid dusk is an early-summer relic now.
These two are torch-bearers for a time that passed before it ever seemed to begin, when summer was new and pregnant with the promise that has now fulfilled itself.
They are the bathing suit 75 percent off.
The "Star Wars" movie still playing in the cineplex.
The empty book bags thrown into the closet.
The swimming pool lamp still burning in the deserted pool.
The song that was to be the song of summer before summer decided on a better song.
If only you two could come inside: watch the yellow lights of the school buses flash by instead, then see the leaves turn flaming gold and red, then stay warm by the fireplace, then catch a glimpse of the first petal of the new warm season and then meet your destiny like you should have ...
How do we let them get away with this?
When we were children, we accepted it as a universal truth of the way things just had to be.
If we were going to eat cereal with marshmallows, we were going to have to eat a disproportionate amount of bland fiber along the way. If we could get away with it, we might just filter out all the marshmellows and conveniently disappear the rest of the bag.
Today, in light of "Limited Edition Double Shooting Stars! Lucky Charms," we realize it didn't always have to be this way. We could have had more marshmallows all along (and these extra marshmallows do indeed reset the bar of how Lucky Charms cereal should taste).
But even more egregious is that they plan on reducing the number of marshmallows to previous levels at some point in the future -- unless, of course, "Limited Edition" in cereal terms means just about as much as "Going Out Of Business" does for a bargain beachwear store sale in July.
Why hasn't there been a mass revolt? Three things come to mind: 1.) The kids who eat it are too young to have their voices heard, 2.) The stoners who eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner aren't motivated enough, or 3.) The parents who buy it are just trying to find a way to trick their kids into eating more fiber.
It's curious why market forces haven't dictated that there be a cereal made solely of marshmallows (technically, it might not be cereal then, but then again they make those pixie stix filled with nothing but pure sugar).
It's a mystery why these types of cereals don't have, at the least, more marshmallows than they have putrid -- and now whole grain -- cereal rings.
Yes, we are always after those Lucky Charms ... and we should get them, because this is capitalism, you whiny little leprachaun martyr!
The power is with the people. We must demand more marshmallows for ourselves and our children -- not in limited edition, but all the time.
We have nothing to lose but our chains. We have a world to win. Marshmallow lovers of all countries, unite!
