Enter The Alfie

Given the ominous all-caps declaration at the end of my 2nd-to-last post, I should let you know: Unto me, a son is born (6/1/2011 @ 4:13p.m.). And he shall be called Alfred James (or Alfie, to his new parents and imaginary friends). The government will be on his shoulders (although, I kinda hope not–with corporations financially backing candidates and a Senate that loves to squash funding for human services and the arts, I’m just a wee bit afraid of what kind of America will be there to greet him when his capacity for memory is introduced).

So far, fatherhood is:  x_- (don’t ask me what that means. It seems like it communicates a half-dead exhaustion, but I’ve never really understood how to use emoticons).

My experience being a newborn dad these past 5 days sort of transcends a blog post. There’s a lot to say, and a lot to say that millions of people have already said. Thus, when you try to tell other people about it who haven’t been through any of it yet, you’re not really telling them for their own benefit. You’re telling them because you still don’t quite believe it all yourself. You hope that by sharing it, it will mean that you’ll gain some necessary space to reflect. But, the changes and transitions are so drastically fast, I’d need to hire a little philosopher in order to keep up with the blistering epistemological velocity.

However, that doesn’t mean that this transparent writer won’t make his attempts to share his experiences (ok: the third person pronouns stop this instant). So, Matt Salesses–an amazing writer and fellow columnist at The Good Men Project–asked me to start a blog with him so that we could chronicle our paths into parenthood. Don’t think of it as daily bread, but as the stale crumbs lining some semblance of a path.

Check it out: New Dads Strut

Some of it is funny, some of it reveals our deep-seated anxieties (what’s a writer without his/her fair share of neuroses?), and some of it is lame and in-the-moment. But, such is fatherhood, as best as I can glean not even a week in.

So, strut along with us, even if it is with an awkward, stumpy limp.

ps: my wife is nothing short of a miracle. no further explanation necessary.


About bp

I'm writing a book. It's called, Wake, Sleeper. My writing revolves around this idea of art: attempts to recover what is lost.
This entry was posted in Just Cuz, New Dads Strut, Series: Essays in Embryo and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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