Henry Rollins, Walnuts, and still talking Jack

"Dad, I don't want to go to school today. I want go Jack's house."

Jonah, my thoughtful, adventurous first-born beautiful child, continues to amaze me at every turn. He is at one of the stages in life where he is brutally honest at times ("Dad, I have owey bottom - kiss it?" - thanks for sharing), and at other times he's learning that being a little less than honest can get him what he wants, which sad to say is part of what you realize as you are thrown into new fits of social development.

He has learned for example, that we are pleased with him if he uses the toilet at school (rather than his underpants). So the other day on the way home from school we broached the subject as we generally do, and he answered confidently, "yes, indeed my unwitting and dare I say ill-follicled father, I have successfully navigated the treacherous watery depths of the plop-filled echo chamber that is the school bath and its heathen commode, and I have emerged victorious, lighter for my troubles, clear-headed and of sound colon." Or something like that. It may have been, "Yeah! I go poopoo in the toilet!", but I am sure I heard the word "indeed" in there somewhere. At any rate, we had a little meeting with his guide today (they are not teachers, nay, but guides in Montessori methodology, which we agree with I must say), and yeah NO, no toilet. it was my darling Mr. Poopypants goes to Portland in one set of clothes, and comes home in another (though he will never hear those words cross my lips). Ah, how we must now volunteer at the school more to make up for this.

He also has a much more developed long-term memory than I would have expected at this age; not that he's unusual in this way, its more that I didn't really realize how much we all remember when we're in our 2's. He's in preschool now and is surrounded by lots of other children his age, all sharing projects and rugs and snacks together, but he still hangs onto the memories of the friends he has in California. He asks about Jack and Ellie daily, and is always on the lookout for their Dad's vehicle. It never fails that when we're in just about any parking lot, he spots a car that looks like their car, and asks excitedly, "John's car?"

This used to break our hearts every time he'd ask it, as we are ourselves suffering from the same feelings but are too afraid of the kinetic flood waters to test the emotional wherewithal of the guy in line behind us at the grocery store. As adults we're pretty good at digging a nice comfy ditch for those emotions, chucking them in desperately, and covering them over with a lot of gravelly denial, hoping that the pain goes away by the time we get through a couple more stoplights. (Strangely stoplights hold no sentimental value for me. Now stop signs on the other hand...but everyone has that hangup.) 2 year olds are generally not good at this denial thing; if it hurts, they cry. If it tickles, they laugh hysterically. No digging and chucking; when he cries he cries and its done. Laughing follows within seconds.

I also know that in the process of uprooting ourselves we have projected a lot of our own over-thought emotions and reasonings onto his little expressions of feelings. For example, when I long for the people that I love and miss, it becomes this handful of cracked walnuts that bounces around my stomach and chest, occasionally smashing into the backs of my eyes after doing the river dance on the upper regions of my throat. Sandblasted walnut shells are systematically destroying my rods and cones and chipping off chunks of my wisdom teeth. I know it. So when I hear him verbally missing his friends, I know that I project this feeling I have onto him; he doesn't have that same overdeveloped sense of longing yet; but I swear sometimes it feels like that's what he's telling me.

I have often wished that I had a valve on the back of my head so that I could turn the little handle (not a knob) and let all of my thoughts flush out like so much steam and vapor, until I could regain a sense of quietness in my own head. I wouldn't have to use it a lot. I could see letting some of the walnut shells and bone chips out too. As Henry Rollins said:

"I want to disconnect myself
pull my brainstem out and unplug myself
I want nothing right now, I want to pull it out"

What I am coming to realize is my 2-year old still has this facility; he is able to dump his mind out in sharp outbursts of tears or laughter, and be done with it. He is able to say that he misses his friends today, and every day, and is able to move on to the next bit of mischief within seconds without being consumed with a sense of melancholy that is exacerbated by Northwest rain. He is able to see a picture of his friend Corbin and smile briefly, think about Corbin's parents and his dog, and continue to dump his cars happily on the dining room floor to wake his finally sleeping sister.

In other words, unlike his jaded father, my son, my wise, innocent, beautiful 2-year old son, has a valve, and no walnuts. Even Henry Rollins might learn a thing or two.