5:26 AM PDT - Aug. 11, 2004
today is all about the boomerang, the up and curve and jerking of its flight as if the semi-V piece of wood had a toddler tethered to its apex and was being played like a yo-yo. to my son it is a light saber, a sword, a tool to dig up snails and muddy puddles beside the dead crickets of our yard. here, in the Los Angeles dark, he rolls from his bed, 5:30AM and his first words he says are let me see. let me see. when i woke my words were i want to sleep some more. maybe that is what i lack. that i do not have his archaeology or maybe sleep is an easy escape from the giant rolling boulder of diapers and people and traffic and writing that means to be funny but simply isn't. i remember my own father when i was three was busy with work and poker, that time with me was put off until later. that he too wanted sleep more than a chess game or sesame street or a cold ice cream cone. i don't resent him as much or maybe even at all. i get it. even now as my son is crying and my wife is still dozing and i am still typing, i'm telling my son it's too early. go back to sleep.
