Tuesday, October 03, 2006

"Apparently ...

[Posted by reader_iam]

...things aren't what they seem, Mom. I mean, really apparently, Mom."

And so it begins. And so it goes?** And so... .

Reality bites.

Though my son's early childhood has been so profoundly different from my own, still: He's more like me than I ever thought. More important, than I would ever have wanted to even imagine, much less wish. (Thank goodness he's also like his father;--but more important, his own self, his own mix.)

The whole world be damned. All the stuff. Kept track of or not. Whatever it is. In the end, you look into a child's face (at age 6 or whenever) and say--and say--say what? Well, it depends.

When it comes down to it, it's not what you say. It's who they are, and the nature of, well, human nature. And the world. Which is what it is. You can change some of what that entails, in an evolutionary way, even if (more often, even though) at only the margins. You even have an obligation to try, with all your might. Still, while their challenges may be different, they likely won't be less. Make that almost certainly won't be less.

Because there is no Utopia. In fact, no Utopic vision need apply in dealing with this world as it is. Lest reality bite more than it need to.

Don't take this post the wrong way. My son is OK. More than OK. Better than OK. Nothing bad has happened. And yet there are two things looping through my mind. One is the fragment-quote "on a wing and a prayer" (which of course is from a song, but the song itself is not running through my mind).

The other is this song itself.

Update: For the record, for those who've been around awhile here, or elsewhere: My relatively regular use of "so it goes" in the blogworld refers not to that song, but rather to Kurt Vonnegut's "Slaughterhouse Five." (Quick points to someone who, without Googling, can come up with the "or=alternate title.)

Once in a while, there are also overtones having to do with the song linked here. Mostly not. Still ... .

(Reality bites. Ambiguity, uncertainty, ambivalence--they all bite harder.

Well: So it goes!)

Update II: Now that I think about it, "Slaughterhouse Five" and its author easily fits into this category, although not for the same reasons outlined in the linked post. And the first Vonnegut work I ever read was a short story: "Harrison Bergeron."