Culpable …..Culpable, I am culpable.
No, I was not present in that sterile operating room, if that’s what you call it, to at the last minute knock away the hand of that surgeon, if that’s what you call him, or her. But I am culpable as if I had performed it myself, but in some ways I did. In my stoic disapproval I too removed life from her, at least the hope of one, the hope of us.
It’s only now that I’m ever so close to losing my own inner child that I shed my selfish tears, which won’t give me the satisfaction of burning my cheeks. As my emotions cascade from God knows where I am heavily soaked in my new reality, I am growing old. And I am growing lonely. Never was I aware that this would be my beast of burden.
Now I have sympathized with those unfortunate souls who’ve lost the ability of their own body and even worst lost the limb all together. But it is devilishly peculiar how the loss, rather the giving up of a life, an entire separate but joined human being can seem so commonplace. It may be voluntary but it’s no simple procedure where you’d have all the ice cream you wanted when it’s over. It was no walk in the park for her and if it were she didn’t have my hand to hold, I was nowhere to be found. I was not within the vicinity of the vicinity but I am not that far removed from my guilt of the atrocity committed …by me …by that place.
I can’t take any of it back no more than I could unwalk the path, I am where I am, sore with sorry and sorrow and cannot apologize enough. I was a foolish youngster, but then maybe 20-something is hardly too young to not know better; I was a Neanderthal, incapable of engaging such complexities as care or sensitivity …but I can’t help but feel even the Neanderthal would be indeed appalled by this odious beast. What a retched thing I was.
I guess you can say I deserve to suffer; and I won’t be compelled to offer any rebut to that. But I will and I have utterly collapsed to my knees and did all the crying that little one probably ever would have done and I asked for God’s forgiveness …and for the forgiveness of those that never were that could have been…and for those whose offspring will only briefly exist frequent fantasies….and for the mammy with her dozen or so head of children, that I’ve look upon in ridicule; how blessed she is. From hence forth, lord pluck out mine eyes if I am less than magnanimous in my unprovoked critique of her, or judgment as it were.
I was hit all at once, completely overcome with this hurtful history at the sight of a baby with his foot in his mouth. I wondered, how could it be such a thing of entertainment and joy; a body part, and not even the fun part, but feet! As a matter of fact, not feet but a foot! He was so enamored by the one he didn’t realize he had two! I assume feet is an acquired taste. I also can only assume it will become unacquired when his mouth become acquainted with teeth or when his hand become acquainted with another body part … then later somebody else’s body parts. I too along with the other spectators could not be turned away by that simple performance, an act so familiar and so ordinary and so timeless; something I had never given any attention to before certainly not with the level of enthusiasm I experienced that day. “…baby discovers his left foot and towns all abuzz”! ….It is quite the marvel.
I cannot explain myself but I sincerely understand the excitement a new mother feels when witnessing ever action and reaction of baby from learning to control his grasp, forming words of speech, following her with those innocent peek-a-boo eyes … taking that first step.
As I watch the father and son couples from my envious disposition I had the mind to offer a little hint as to how he could be just a little better at it. But I keep my place amongst the other hypocrites. Still, in my noticing I’ve found there are only two category of parent I’m familiar with who should without a doubt have their own chair, desk, and blackboard with plenty erasers in the principal’s office of the accredited school for parenting; that’s the ones I know personally and those I recollect in my daily coming and goings. They are more excitable from unworthy things than their own reflections in the little ones. ….you can’t mistake them for being self centered, not completely. I digress.
There is no way of knowing the type of father I would have been then. Maybe I would have fallen into the perils that all my peers have, a continual state of quasi or absolute absence; daddy, sure but void of manhood. The one thing I have been groomed for over these long hard years is manhood. I am undoubtedly ready willing and able to handle anything life has in store. However, unfortunately for me, fatherhood is a man I’m afraid I may never have the pleasure of meeting. I have almost accepted that my burning desire to and preparedness for is just part of the self inflicted torment.
I was warned, “they” said, “you’ll regret it, you’ll never be the same”. They were right and I was arrogant. From time to time I think about what could have become; I think that’s considered regret. I like to imagine a cute little baby boy or a sweet little baby girl waiting for me in heaven ….will they somehow be the age of teeter totter or as old as I hope to be, when I arrive. But that’s all in daydreaming…..and slight regret, I guess.
I do not hate myself now nor then, neither did I hate my beloved (future baby momma). Only if it were as simple as the song suggest; love- marriage -carriage instead, confusion- fear-crash …and burn. But why-how …selfishness ….vanity, had the stork made a mistake in address…not unless Cupid made a misfire. Could it be destiny that the never was, though made in all that love, never was? A question devised in some failed attempt to conveniently ease the blame to he who gave his only begotten son that I might live and multiply.
Well, I’m not getting any younger and my beloved who was left to bear the blunt of all of this has chose not to again deny herself that precious miracle. She has multiplied, by two-three if you count her significant other. Meanwhile I get to watch her have all the fun doing the things I would have done, the things I actually love to do. But all is not lost for me, I too enjoy the company of children at times; my favorite, and we all have our favorites, the freshest twig on this 165 branch tree we call family; Ngomane.
If I were his father I’d give him the sun. If were his mother I’d give him the moon. But I am neither; alas I am a mere uncle so on his father’s, mother’s, and uncle’s behalf I dedicate this tune Play Video
©2008LondonMcgee
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