Honea Express

Archive for the ‘Dad Blogs’ Category

This is my best post. I’ll tell you that right now. You might smile. You might sigh. You may have to step away from your computer and touch something to make sure this is real. That something is your focal point. This post is your anchor. I am the captain of your ship and we are sailing on an ocean made from the tears of so many children.  All children cry. Yours, because you don’t love them enough. Mine, because I love too much. All tears taste of salt. All tears flow to the sea.

I’m trying something new. Do you like it? If you do then please paste this on your car bumper. Page a friend. Yell it from the assorted rooftops. This is me excelling in a new direction, and the direction is up. It is like the rapture, but with more hype.

I am a giant redwood among the pines and oaks of daddy blogging. Other dads cut holes at my root, because they cannot reach my heart. They drive their cars through me. They are part of a fast-food forest. I am a seven course meal and the wine is an “h” short. Dessert is layered in metaphors. It is nearly as sweet as my words, but without the linger or the bite.

I will not rewrite this post, which makes it even better, because it is raw. It is trending.

I know things about parenting that you do not. You have told me so with your actions. Save your words for Scrabble and friends. This is sticks and stones territory. This is tough love. There is no reach around. There is no spoon.

Some of you may not get this. It may seem too deep. It may seem too powerful. If that is you, then congratulations, you just Googled directions to where love lives. There are hugs nearby.

If this post makes you angry then you are reading it wrong. If it makes you cry then you are probably Glenn Beck. Or me. Let it out. That’s how love flows. It sounds like Kenny G on a train in the distance.

There is a box and you are in it. I am on the outside, thinking of ways to help you get more traffic. It starts when I open the lid.

The roads were narrow and slick with sweat. The whiskey fell from our pores and grew lost beneath the current in which we waded. The air was layered with lingering lust and the promise of magnolias. It was midday and people were dancing in the streets. It was as dangerous as it was carefree, and upon the faces were the storied smiles of hard living in the big easy.

We made our way one drink at a time. We ate too much and slept too little. The hours between the end of the day and the start of another were filled with laughter and the deep breaths that live around it.

Jazz danced with every word. He swayed. She threw her arms into the nearness of the night. You just stood there, knowing, and nodded. I sipped my whiskey and handed you the bottle every time your glass went dry.

Ours was a group of revolving cameos, each entrance a chance for applause and each exit a time for tears. We were filmed before a live studio audience. Some stayed more than others.

Everyone will tell you what we learned and how we did it. Everyone will tell you how it all went well and it all went wonderful. Everyone would be right. It was just as everyone says, but with a better beat. And the beat went on.

I miss New Orleans in that forgotten hour, when the bartender hands you one last one last one and moments get thrown back like sacks of memories slapped across your shoulder. The door swings open and a train goes by, the sun is rising and the beer is cold. The laughter as loud as ever.

I’m alive. I haven’t left the building. Yes, there are cobwebs covered in icicles hanging on the hinges of Honea Express, but it’s not like I haven’t been busy.

For example:

My latest at DadCentric – One Foot in Front of the Other

My latest at BabyCenter – 2011: This One’s for the Boys

They said that 2010 was the year of the Dad Blog, and yet it was fairly quiet around these parts. I’m aiming to fix that. I’m not sure what fodder will fall to these pages, but whatever it is I hope you join me for the ride.

The following was Bill Watterson’s goodbye to Calvin, Hobbes, and us. I think it also makes a grand hello.

Hello, 2011. Welcome.

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Look, a sexy picture with the word DUST on it. Pardon that, too.

This place will be rolling and/or collecting moss in no time. Please come back. Often.

Thank you kindly.

I can see the cat, white and quick, through the bare, gray trees. The cat runs in sudden bursts and stops on a dime, or whatever passes for currency amongst the wild. He stops and he stares.

There is a pattern here, for I too am stopped. I too am staring. I am watching him watch something else and that thing may be watching yet another something and so forth and so on and I can’t help but wonder who is watching me.

I live in a glass house. I like to throw stones.

This past Monday my little blog turned five. That’s like 80 in blog years. We didn’t have a party. We didn’t decorate. You didn’t get me anything.

It’s okay.

I take solace in the thought that you are there. Each post is a piece of me and together they blur like the trees for the forest. Sometimes I run. Sometimes I sit. Sometimes I stare at something else.

And always you’ve been there for me. Thank you for watching.