Impetus

An Indian headdress turns out to be a cuter accessory than I would have ever known. My little brave got dressed up for Thanksgiving at Dad’s day out yesterday, and she was the belle of the ball in her feathers. Later in life she may wear them around her neck, or on her ears in her teenage Mr. T faze, but when else can she wear them around her head? I was very proud of her and could have sworn that she was casting fierce looks towards the little Pilgrims in her class. It looks like she will be quite a bit more subversive than her Dad. I tried to calm the nerves of the little settlers, but Annie wasn’t having it. So we left before she had to drop any knowledge about what really went down 400 years ago.

What yesterday’s festivities signified on a personal level is that it is almost time to participate in my least favorite of all activities. Like the aforementioned B.A Baracus, I am terrified of flying and need sedatives to accomplish the task. For me, the whole milk trick would never work, so I go with bourbon instead. It usually does the job, but next week we will be flying out on Wednesday night, the dreaded day before Thanksgiving. Two flights and seven hours later (God forbid there be direct flight to anywhere from Shreveport) we land in Newark. And as I always do the week before any flight, I ask myself if my life is well enough in order. In the past, this question was always met with a resounding internal NO. Now, for the first time in a long while, a little yes is starting to make some headway.

Annie has made this possible. Today, unlike much of the last ten years or so, I can say that I have something to be proud of. At first it started as pride in creating this beautiful little person, but as the months move along I’m realizing that I am becoming whole. When did I last feel this way? And why now? Sadly, the first question is more difficult to answer. Not in the sense that I don’t know the reason, but more in what it reveals. You see, I know the exact day this all started. For my own sake, we will forgo this story until next week. It is the core of my whole life and the explanation for this blog’s title. For this reason, I need to properly collect my thoughts.

The now of the transition is simple. Annabelle. But not for the reasons you might think. Yes, having a child changes you, and the responsibility of it cannot be taken lightly, but the notion of passing on my baggage to my daughter is the driving force of this project. Above all other aspects of her upbringing, this is the most important. So I will roll around with this story a bit and check back in on Monday.