IMG_0296I truly believe that things are cyclical. Things that we may deem unique or ‘new’, have happened before and will happen again.

There isn’t anything new with music. Every song has already been written. It can be re-written to sound a bit different, or played on different instruments, but it’s all been done.

Every story has been told. Every horror actualized. Every tragedy accepted as such.

Enter modern day and the questions my son will have, and this is where he will prove me wrong.

Everything will be new to him. To his eyes and ears and brain and all that snazzy jazz. Every experience will be wholly original unto him. And thusly, I am proven short sighted.

His first trip to the Emergency room.

His first broken heart.

I can go on, but I’m just making myself look stupider.

I remember the day my parents finally looked at me like I was an adult. It was seven months ago. I’m currently 39 with a seven year old son. I don’t think my wife has looked at me like I’m an adult yet. Yet meaning I assume that she someday will. I mean, I’m hoping. I should have said I was hoping.

Back to the cyclical.

Evolution is a series of cycles that embody the fundamentals of human growth. Climbing over the decaying bodies of our ancestors to get that much father out of the soup. That type of thing. Somewhere within this mechanical redundancy is the spiritual component of growth. I’m not sure what the actual anthropological physiognomy is at this point, but I’m guessing that innovation based on curiosity is a prime motivator. I’m also guessing that telling your child, “It is because that is the way it is” destroys that spiritual element. It stunts it. How the hell do we know anything other than fire makes meat good and that if it hurts when you touch it stop touching it?

Alas, I’m not saying anything new. I sometimes babble on like I’m the first parent. Like I’m the first hominid with a unique idea. I doubt I ever said anything that would be considered unsaid before.

"My space suit smells like an abandoned windmill."
“My space suit smells like an abandoned windmill.”*

“My space suit smells like an abandoned windmill.”

There, I just proved myself wrong again. That sentence has never been said before. Well, at least according to google.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that there is no exactness to life. There are too many intangibles. Too many things to take into consideration.

When asked ‘Why?’, I will try to counter with ‘Why do you think?’. At least until he realizes that he can ask ‘Why do you think why?’, then I think that is what is considered a proper segue for bedtime.

And the cycle continues.

*Photo courtesy of Andrea Beca and Friends Without Benefits

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