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A baby dropped by work yesterday accompanied by Big Brother, Mom, and Dad. Women came from all directions as if there was some scent in the air. What is it with all the squeaking and cooing and can I hold him? Men fled and women stood in line to hold the baby. He was passed around like a hot potato. He’s not even a month old yet. So it was a very small sack of potatoes, more like a very large roast. Big Brother got bored and started racing around the cube-farm at top speed, bouncing off walls, and stealing candy. I didn’t blame him. At his age, what fun is it if you can’t play with it. All those adults inquisitioning him about his new Little Brother. Give him a break, he’s really not sure how he feels yet.
All this fuss, and it was legion, was going on right outside my cube. I had a front row seat for all the squeaking, cooing, and pregnancy stories. As I sat there, it struck me as bizarre. You get pregnant. You swing between moments of sheer terror and incredible joy. You can’t stop nature and shazaam, you suddenly have another life that you are responsible for. At this stage, its sleep deprivation for you and constant sleep, poop, and eat cycle for him. Men flinch and women exchange war stories.
His mom confessed she’s bored stiff and has already been sneaking peaks at email, keeping tabs on work, and just plain craving adult conversation. She gladly passed him off to all the cooing females just to have a few minutes off.
Eventually, all the more aggressive moms wandered away and the shy people popped out. Those people who aren’t quite sure what to do with a baby, want to look, or feel socially obligated to go see the baby. They stand back a few feet, right on the edge, hesitant. You can see things flitting through their minds: “It’s a baby.” “Am I ever going to have one of those?” “Does it bite?” “Let me get a little closer..” “Eww, ohh, wow.” “It’s a baby.” “There, did it. Social obligation fulfilled. Run.” “Do I want to hold it?” “It’s a baby.” “It looks like every other one I’ve seen.” “Cool.” “Eww, are they supposed to do that?” And then they too drift away.
Then it was my turn. She turned to me and said, “I have to pee. Do you mind holding him for a bit?” I must have looked wrong because after a frustrated sigh, one of the women plopped him in my arms, told me how to hold him, and next thing I knew, I was feeding a three week old infant. I must have been doing it right, because everyone settled down. Then he farted, burped, and went to sleep. I was told I had truly been accepted. But I must confess. No twinges of maternal instinct. No ticks from the old clock. Nada. Zilch. Zippo.
Long time ago I realized that on the subject of having children, I really was apathetic. I’m sure if I was with someone who really had the joneses for them, I would have them. But who I’m with now, likes them a lot but also likes to give them back. We’ve talked about it and agree, if something happened to our friends, we would gladly step in and raise em. But having our own just isn’t in the stars.
Ciao
The other day I was rooting through the garage in hopes of clearing out a few more boxes. I came across a few rolls of film. You know the old stuff you take down to Moto-Photo to develop and hoping all the time, you really had something worth paying for.
Funny, today you see it but never print it. Then you never saw it, but printed it.
What is on those rolls of film? After all these year’s, is it still good? Why did I keep it? Did it just fall into the boxes? Should I get it developed? Do they still do that today?
Right now, it’s just fun contemplating. Happy times? Boring times? Important events? Is it even my film?
It’s a little like that moment right before you open the gift. The little flutter of hope that it is something you will treasure and not socks.
Right now I’m holding on to that feeling…
Ciao
I’m happy my SO has a band of friends. These guys have been together since the dawn of time or at least high school. Inevitably when we all get together, after all the talk of jobs, kids, day-to-day stuff, the old stories start. Each of the respective spouses can repeat these stories word for word and often correct the story teller if they slip. We all know the prompts, the right questions, and the timing. Don’t get me wrong, I am very glad he has this band of friends.
After last night’s impromptu dinner party, I thought over how this relationship he has with these guys, makes the world a little more right. I don’t have friends like that. Mine are either dead, disconnected, or situational. His keep us all orbiting around them like spokes on a wheel. Somehow that wheel confirms that people can have this kind of bond. It’s like the Band of Brothers in novels. It’s the childhood die-hard friends. It’s the reason that people go to high school reunions hoping to capture a sense of belonging to something, to anything.
These guys come together forming groups and associations over and over again. Occasionally, they take on auxillary members. Even if they haven’t seen one of them in years, they start right back up without a pause. They keep tabs on each other. They appear when the other needs help with moving or house stuff. Tease and cajole each other when they think one of them has lost their way.
Driving home, I realized that no matter what happens, I’ll support my SOs band of brothers. I just can’t imagine not.
Ciao
Just the other day, I read an outage report and realized I had caused it. Funny thing was no one had contacted me to yell or fuss or make me write reports. None of the inevitable questions that insult your intelligence and make management feel they are in control. It was a pretty major outage and my stomach flipped over. I knew a shit storm was a’brewing. I just knew it. But 24 hours later all was quiet.
Here’s the point: If no one can pin the blame on you and by keeping your mouth shut, the outage is just chalked up to sun spots and the vagaries of computers, what would you do?
Most people, if they knew they wouldn’t get caught, would do just about anything. I know we all like to tell ourselves that we would stick to the moral high-ground. We would make it right and come forward. We revile and spit upon people who don’t confess or run away. We pat ourselves on the back knowing that we would speak out, break up a fight, call 911 on some mother with a little child loose in the car, and of course always help the police. But I think that it’s just the fear of getting caught that motivates people…
I wonder. If you knew there would be no repercussions would you tell your boss what happened. Knowing that it’s raise time and you just cost the company money? Knowingly put yourself in front of an oncoming bus?
Think about it…
Ciao
It’s raining. If you live near any big metropolitan area, you know that rain is sure death to the daily commute. So I trucked over to my ‘other’ worksite and visited ‘the boyz’.
Nothing like talking tech for 4 or 5 hours. Listening to peeps argue the merits of one technology vs another. Showing me their new cool code and toys. It’s fun, but I do begin to wonder about myself sometimes.
A major discussion broke out about how they could make it better, faster, and more sexy. So I dared them to. Now I have to write up a bunch of specs. I always seem to be creating work for myself.
While sitting in someone’s cube, the boss dropped by and this conversation ensued:
Boss: “I’m off to earn honey points.”
Someone: “Oh those things. How do you redeem them and when do they expire?”
Boss: “Check your plan for rules and regulations. What’s in your wallet?”. (snicker snicker)
Boss: “If you need me, don’t hesitate to call. I’ll be playing barbies and building lego houses.”
Someone: “Barbies?”
Boss: “Yeah. I have 79 naked women in my house. It’s kinda disgusting.”
ciao
Thoughts of an Old Fart 