2005-03-21 - 7:11 a.m.
Something sad happened this weekend. On Sunday my son announced, over breakfast, that his imaginary friend had died. Apparently his friend, Johnson, was bitten by a rattle snake and died from the poisonous venom. We observed a moment of silence for Johnson.
I'm not sure how to feel about this. What does it mean when your child kills off his imaginary friend? And why was his name Johnson?
Well, at least he's writing his own story.
Before my son was even conceived I wasn't sure that I wanted to have a son. I always said that I was content to raise only daughters, but realize now that I wasn't actually content, but afraid. I was afraid to have a son.
I think my fear was that I wouldn't know how to relate to him and would have little to offer him as a father, having not grown up with a father myself and feeling a bit like I was still out-of-touch with my masculine side.
I know now that my fears were unfounded. Being a man, or in-touch with ones masculine side has little to do with exposure to other "men" or being influenced by other men. Being a man has everything to do with taking responsibility - especially when raising children.
I also find that my son and I relate in ways that are beyond my mental faculties - it's instinctual. We're drawn to one another in certain ways and play off one another in certain ways...our relationship is a natural bond and is progressing according to natures plan.
My brain, I'm finding, only needs to come into play when society dictates. What I mean is, when the evil of daily life and the yoke of society attempts to drag us down with it's hateful and prejudiced nature, I must engage my brain and think about what I must do to protect my son and his very impressionable, new mind. I try very hard to monitor his inputs and observe the effects of things that I cannot intercept.
The other day we were shopping for clothes and my son was lounging in my daughter's stroller, which is far too small for him. Suddenly, after watching an attractive teen-aged girl walk by he states (quite loud), "Mom...I LOVE girls."
The cashier, a young gay man, looks at me blankly and I say (a little embarrassed), "There goes my son, proclaiming his heterosexuality."
"You must be so proud." The cashier says blankly, with just a dash of gay sarcasm.
"Either way - so long as he's happy." And the cashier's expression changed to surprise. My brain actually turned to me in surprise as well and they both stared at me for a moment.
Then my brain spoke up, "Do you REALIZE what you just implied? If your son turns out to be gay, which is doubtful, you wouldn't care?"
While my loins scream out that I must have an heir to carry on the family name, by Crom - my heart and my soul just don’t care. I want my son to be happy and to realize his dreams and fuck the world if they can't deal with it. If that means he ends up gay, then so be it.
FUCK YOU WORLD! I LOVE MY GAY SON!!!
Ok, so that was a little over the top...
