The stark realisation that I am an idiot man-child has reared its adolescent head yet again. Is this a bad thing? It is when someone close to you tells you it is time to evolve.
“I don’t want to evolve,” I grumbled to my pal Adam Richard as I slashed my tail from side to side and buried part of my breakfast to eat later.
Adam smiled sweetly and patted my head.
“You don’t have to do anything the normal person asks you to do if you don’t want to.”
The problem is that maybe it is time.
I have been thinking about it constantly of late and I think it might be due to the fact that I have a biological clock ticking, a part of me that is trying to remind me that I am getting to the stage where my sperm will be so old it will need a walking stick to find some suitable eggs to fertilise. I have no interest in children except as a supplement for chicken and tuna. I hear it is the tastiest of white meats but is just really difficult to cook especially with the parents getting in the way.
I quite like my friends’ kids. Especially the bit where they’re crying and I leave. Smell you guys later; I’m going home to stay up all night of my choosing. I just have no real desire to own any. I have felt that way for a long time and I have never really wondered why until recently.
It may be a mix of reasons. Firstly I hate the idea of not having my time to myself. I start to freak out when friends come over for dinner and they don’t leave early enough for me to go and check on the latest NBA scores. Imagine having a child that wants it’s nappy changed when Dwyane Wade is making a charge for victory in a meaningless pre-season basketball game. If I don’t change the babies’ nappy then I will be the bad guy but if I do I might have to rewind my Foxtel I.Q. to be able to see what I missed out on. Talk about a “Sophie’s Choice” dilemma!
Also the idea that the child will start off loving me unconditionally then one day just look at me and think, “Dad, you’re completely fucked” is really depressing, especially when it will probably come at the moment that I am explaining why Desmond Hume’s name works on a couple of levels in “Lost”.
Fear is definitely prevalent. I don’t drive and never have. People have asked me why I didn’t drive to begin with and that was because when I was brought up Mum never had a car so there wasn’t one in the house. I was used to not having one around so have never missed it. “Well, why don’t you get one now?” I do have a fear of not being very good at driving and possibly hurting someone or even myself. I don’t mean by having an accident; I mean blanking out in some road rage incident where I wake up and find that I have not only caved in someone’s car and head with a golf club but freaking out because I have no idea where the golf club actually came from. I have seen the most timid of people become swearing machines behind the wheel of a car; one such friend using such language that I think if Quentin Tarantino had heard her he would have remarked, “That is going too far”. So the idea of having a little one in a car while I; their sweet old pappy; tries to wipe the blood off his face before the police arrive is not a good thing for the little tyke to endure.
There is a lack of satisfaction with my career as well. Oh don’t get me wrong, things are great and have been great for a number of years but there are personal goals I have not reached yet and I think having a child around may hinder those lofty dreams.
And that may be the problem right there. I am a dreamer and have been since I was a little boy. It kept me in the business when I was at my least inspired and it keeps me from resting on my laurels even when I am kicking goals. I embrace it to such an extent I may even put in my plate while writing this to get the full sleeping/grinding sensation I go through every night.
Yet it probably has had an adverse effect on me as well. Last year I had a close friend die that shattered me emotionally but not once did I cry. Yet this week when I watched the last two seasons of Battlestar Galactica back to back I found myself almost moved to tears on a regular basis on the struggles and fears of these fictional characters. That is some messed up shit when you really have a think about it. I can justify it on a few levels but surely this is not a healthy way to live life in the long run.
Intricate problems of the world also leave me bamboozled. The latest boat people who requested asylum in our grand country were turned away in a scenario that had too much Howard Government whiff of it for my liking. I don’t understand the problem. We have a big country, we’re wealthy, we have a great life, let them in. People are afraid that they’ll take our jobs. Well, if you’re that shit at your job that some poor bugger who has just travelled here out of desperation to survive can take it then you deserve to lose it. I don’t understand why we can’t take them in but I can’t bear to think about it too much; I can’t bear to find a solution when I fear there is none so instead I return to watching Kara Thrace come back from the dead and wonder if she is part Cylon or an angel or a deus ex machina to help the story progress.
Having children seems like a fantasy and may be emotionally that is the right way to think about it. Why bring a child into this world that is going to have a father who will try to teach them morals through the works of Grant Morrison on All-Star Superman than the accepted pre requisites of religion and the law? I wonder if I would be doing the child any favours whatsoever.
I am 37 and still feel 21, physically and emotionally. That doesn’t mean I am in great shape, I think I was just in bad shape when I was young. (This is bullshit, I was in great shape at 21 I just felt like I needed a joke there…another part of my personality that sometimes comes in handy and sometimes really lets the side down.) There are still mountains to climb, oceans to swim and the last season of Lost to come out at the start of next year. I guess I just have to be careful that as everyone evolves around me I am not left behind, in the dark, poring over my Bowie albums, ironically looking for clues to life in the cover to “Reality”. I am one generation away from the next group of kids coming through and thinking I am mildly creepy for not going home to my family that doesn’t exist.
It might be time to get to it.
Well, after I watch the extras to Battlestar Galactica. I really need to understand what happened to Kara or I just won’t be able to get through the day.
Alone with his four coloured thoughts.
October 23rd 2009