I have three sons. They are 13, 10 and 9. I remember them being tiny babies not too long ago. I remember that they were small for a really long time and then in a blink of a eye, they became these small people asking existential questions the minute they walk in the door after school. Yesterday's questions included, "Would you like to die of poisoning or of old age?" And "You know that song 'Next time around'? It makes me think about how quickly life goes by." These were thoughts from the nine year old.  

Yesterday, at work, my boss and I talked about where were were on 9/11. He was working in Washington D.C.. His roommate worked at the Pentagon. His roommate was out of town and all his co-workers died that day when the plane crashed. They were living in an apartment next to the Naval Annex which was next to the Pentagon. That plane flew right over their house.  I was in a sad grey little office at Wash U. School of Medicine in St. Louis with no T.V., slow internet and a radio feed that only gave confusing and inaccurate information. I still remember standing around our cubicles worried and confused and in a strange fog of disbelief.  

Now, 15 years later, we both live in Nebraska with families and kids who go to practices and have homework. None of our kids were alive in 2001. Now I'm old enough to think that 15 years ago doesn't seem like that long ago after all. 

Today includes chores, breakfast duty at school and driving to Lincoln for guitar strings and modeling clay. Turns out the 8th grader has a MODEL OF AN AMERICAN INDIAN ITEM DUE ON THURSDAY!  He thought my freak out last night when I heard this news for the first time was an overreaction. I disagree. And then I remember he is my son and I pulled the exact same thing when I was his age. So we're making a model tonight. 

And I keep listening for a song to come up. Someone posted a clip of David Bowie talking about why we create in the first place and I've watched it four or five times now. I keep thinking that if I'm paying attention something will come up, but so far, it's all a blank page. I was a blank page once. Some days, even after all these years I still feel like one. That's weird, right? 

Comment