I had a horrible dream last night that I died never seeing my unborn child. Like, how fucked up would that be if they never let me talk to him? Or say goodnight to him. Or take him camping and teach him how to fish. I would so teach him fishing. We'd wear those fishing uniforms...matching ones of course...with the hooks and the fuzzy things and the beige hat and shorts...and he'd have this cute little fishing rod, maybe with a cool design on it or flames or something, I don't really give a fuck, as long as it's kid sized. And we'd sit side by side and try to catch fish and we'd talk and laugh and get all excited when he would reel in his first fish even though it would most likely be an empty can of beans or some other piece of garbage. Possibly a body part. So, we'd throw it back. But we'd throw it back together. And then we'd laugh some more because that's what father's and sons do. Or daughter. I'd be cool with a daughter. But for now, this sequence involves a son. So, then, we'd go home and I'd cook fish for him that I bought at the store and we'd act like it was a piece we had caught. And then I'd go smoke a cigarette and hide it from him, one of the many things I will end up hiding from him. And then we'd sit on the couch and watch a movie and I'd put my arm around him and he'd fall asleep so gently, I would pick him up and put him to bed and kiss him on the forehead and say, "I love you MY son." I scream that last part. Every time. Just so he knows. He knows that he is in fact my son. And he looks at me and goes, "I love you real dad." And then falls asleep. Just one day at a time.
Just one day at a time.
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