Name
W. Brown
Location
Philadelphia, PA
Gender
Male
Motto
A guilty conscience needs to confess. A work of art is a confession. (Albert Camus)
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Committed
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Books
Robbe-Grillet, Baldwin, Borges, Capote, Camus, Donne, Nabokov, Wilde
General
Reading, Writing, Teaching, Editing, Football, Baseball, Cooking, SciFi channel, News, Politics
Music
Classic rock, Classic punk, Rock, Indie
Blog Community
A Feature!
10/17/2007 at 8:41 PM
Well, what a surprise! It's always a little unsettling when I get featured somewhere, especially when the features often follow whims, but I am ever grateful.
Thank you so much for the front page plug, folks. It means quite a bit to know someone out there gets a kick out of reading some of these words.
Thank you so much for the front page plug, folks. It means quite a bit to know someone out there gets a kick out of reading some of these words.
A Wish or Two.
8/3/2007 at 7:13 PM
At almost two years old, he is nothing but smiles and baby babble. He dances without fear and laughs loudly without embarrassment. He's unapologetic and free in his affection, and he admires anyone who teaches him something new. He's inquisitive, daring--yet still retains the proper balance of fear and respect for his mother. Quite simply, he is happy.
He is happy. How many of us have forgotten what that is?
I watch him sometimes while he's playing, the entire world his private universe peopled by talking cars and animal figurines--by soccer balls and plastic bats, blocks and piles of books. He'll look up after several minutes, intense, and when he spies me he grins wide, plagued by dimples. I always smile back, no matter how awful I feel.
I wonder when we stop being truly happy--and when we find it again. It seems to blur into cynicism on our rush to adulthood, fluttering in during precious moments on our way to old age. It can't simply be some subtle or tragic loss of innocence; emotions are more complicated than that. I watch him, and I worry. I worry and want to pick him up and kiss him back and sing him off-key songs that haven't made sense in a hundred years.
When will it be his time? When will he forget? I never want him to forget. I don't want him, at twenty-eight, to look back at pictures from his childhood and wonder where that smile went. Worse, I do not want to witness the revelation. I want to remember him forever as two years old playing monkey in the living room.
If I could have one wish, it would be that he grows up to be happy. I don't want a cure for AIDS or world peace or the abolition of hunger. I don't want to win a hundred million dollars or see the completion of one spectacular and worthwhile political agenda. I just want one little boy with a beautiful smile to grow up to be happy.
I have to wonder if that's too much to ask.
He is happy. How many of us have forgotten what that is?
I watch him sometimes while he's playing, the entire world his private universe peopled by talking cars and animal figurines--by soccer balls and plastic bats, blocks and piles of books. He'll look up after several minutes, intense, and when he spies me he grins wide, plagued by dimples. I always smile back, no matter how awful I feel.
I wonder when we stop being truly happy--and when we find it again. It seems to blur into cynicism on our rush to adulthood, fluttering in during precious moments on our way to old age. It can't simply be some subtle or tragic loss of innocence; emotions are more complicated than that. I watch him, and I worry. I worry and want to pick him up and kiss him back and sing him off-key songs that haven't made sense in a hundred years.
When will it be his time? When will he forget? I never want him to forget. I don't want him, at twenty-eight, to look back at pictures from his childhood and wonder where that smile went. Worse, I do not want to witness the revelation. I want to remember him forever as two years old playing monkey in the living room.
If I could have one wish, it would be that he grows up to be happy. I don't want a cure for AIDS or world peace or the abolition of hunger. I don't want to win a hundred million dollars or see the completion of one spectacular and worthwhile political agenda. I just want one little boy with a beautiful smile to grow up to be happy.
I have to wonder if that's too much to ask.
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