Dad 2022. Smile and Shine.
On Sunday you turned six weeks old. That afternoon I had my feet up on the coffee table and you were propped between my bent legs and I was feeding you with a bottle while Apricot licked my face. We were listening to Simon & Garfunkel. Their music is melodic and introspective and they sing about wandering and love and wanting to feel connected, to be of help to someone and to not be alone. I sang to you, one tune after another, until a particular line from one of their songs suddenly absorbed my thoughts and attention: “I’ve got nothing to do today but smile.”
That idea, so simply said, just seemed to capture my life with you now. Each day, I’ve got nothing to do but smile. Is that soppy? Sure, but I don’t mind. As Paul also sings in that song, hey, let your honesty shine, shine, shine. (“The Only Living Boy in New York” is really a kind of goodbye song from Simon to Garfunkel, appearing on their final studio album before they split up, but what songs are about as opposed to the way certain lines can resonate with us personally—well, that’s part of the magic and mystery of music, and you will discover this some day).
I had lots of reasons to smile on Sunday—you on my lap, Apricot by my side, music playing, the California sun gleaming, and mom glowing the way she does. But I was also thinking of the week we’d just had. You had four different visitors at our home. And I was smiling because I was grateful for all the friends who came to see you. You met your godmother Christina, mom’s dear friend from college, who flew all the way from New York to hold you and dote on you and to also cook us dinner, which was a supreme act of kindness. She loves you and she even wrote a letter to you that you will get to read some day. Then you met Alison, our kind and giving friend who teaches with me at the university and who just had a daughter of her own last summer. She wanted to cradle you and tell you how special you were and she also brought us food, including some adult beverages, which we appreciated beyond words. You also met mom’s beloved friend Kyle, the writer, who visited us from L.A. with her boyfriend and brought us dinner (yes, I recognize that food is a theme here…). She is moving back to New York soon, but first she wanted to take you in her arms and make eyes at you and hug your mom tight. Finally, you met Bryan, who is one of my oldest and best friends. You’ll be hearing a lot about him. He and his wife and his daughters live in New York but they were on vacation in California and they made a point to come see us—to see you. We all picked up lunch across the street and ate it here on the back patio. Bryan’s two daughters cherished you. In fact, his seven-year-old really couldn’t get enough of you. She sang to you and warmed your toes and made sure the binky stayed in your mouth. You are six weeks old and you have so many fans.
I’ve got nothing to do today but smile, because I recognize and value the friendships we have, the people your mom and I have kept close over the years, these ties that bind. The people you have seen, and the people you will eventually meet. These friendships are about generosity and care, compassion and consideration, interest and effort and the pleasure of company. I feel lucky to have such good souls in my life, and I want to give back whatever I can to all of them. They are deeply decent folk who shine, shine, shine, and with each new visit you make ties with them, too.