We’re about a half mile from the house before I finally accept that I’d rather be on this Sunday afternoon walk with my family than at the neighborhood party at the boat landing. A little gust of breeze sends live oak leaves tumbling from high above, and the kids are contentedly eyeing the ground between bursts of rambling, kicking dirt and debris as we make our way to Public House for dinner. It’s one of those early spring afternoons that are too nice to pass up. I need to stretch my legs and unstiffen my back, and a beer would just upset my stomach anyway.
I’m glad I’m where I am, but I still struggle to feel present. The kids’ normally entertaining expressiveness just sounds like nonsense. A week of poor sleep, sinuses swollen from pollen, and the specter of a colonoscopy looming at the end of the week have me distracted. My mind feels scattered and dull, lending a blandness to our two-mile walk.
We had my nephew on Saturday, and Danyelle did most of the heavy lifting with the boys while I hid in the den, trying to stop my mind wandering while I read a biography on Montaigne. This morning I tried to do the Sunday crossword, but I couldn’t hold suspected answers in my head long enough to make connections. Noticing my mind’s sluggishness isn’t all bad. It’s almost interesting in and of itself, but I can’t help worrying that I won’t feel its sharpness again.
The food is bad at dinner, and I don’t have any beer to make up for it. We watch the NCAA tournament selection show from a high top in the bar while we eat, and then we start our way back. Danyelle and Scotty rush ahead, and Cartter and I hang back. He calls me Daddy maybe a dozen times, trying to snap me to attention. I enjoy it, but everything still has the ring of nonsense. My legs feel good, though, and I’m happy I’m with him.
When we all reconvene on the patio at the house, I’ve settled into the blandness of it all. Scotty is splayed out on top of Danyelle like a retriever who thinks it’s a lap dog. He looks at her and smiles and out of nowhere says that he dreams about naked girls. He says he dreams that he’s hugging them and kissing their boobs. Then his smile gets a little bigger as he looks away and says that he rubs his penis on them. Danyelle pulls the top of her shirt over her face to try to hide her laughing fit. I just sit there and wonder if he’s telling the truth. When we go back inside, I’m a little more able to fill in the crossword.
The Raging Elitist 