And today, some 40 years later, Jones and I are walking on the sidewalk between snowbanks on our way to daycare. But Jones is an adventurer, he needs more life than that, so I help him up to the mountains. We’re holding hands as he balances on the changing topography, and he could not be happier. “I’m taller than you, daddy!”, he shouts. The sun is behind us, our long shadows cast before us like a path. Jones the long one, mine the short. He looks at me, smiling, “Daddy, are you happy?” A question of such unexpected beauty. My radiant beast, so vividly alive, caring whether his father is happy or not. I tell him that I am very happy, that I could not be happier, in fact, and Jones says, “I’m happy, too!” And so we continue, both stronger now. The sunlight bouncing off the thin membranes of ice covering the branches in the trees above us. Everything imperishable.
Rachelle, Jones and I were in the backyard– the adults sipping coffee while Jones patrolled the U-shaped garden that frames the patio where we were sitting. Above us was an incredible canopy of leaves and branches. Somehow, it seemed a deeper and more vivid green than it should have been, and then, cutting through this foliage was the kind of sunlight that makes you think of Bible illustrations, and beyond that, nothing but the rich, blue infinity of a sky that knew everything.
Jones, propelling himself Fred Flinstone-style in a toy car he likes to play in, came over to us. He was the ice cream truck. Cheerfully, almost professionally, he offered us make-believe ice cream cones with make-believe sprinkles. His spontaneous joy in this theatre was a living, radiant thing, and the feeling it gave was not unlike if a deer had wandered into the yard and nuzzled us.
It felt that soft, that pure.
And then after a minute or two had passed, Jones stood up on the one step that leads from our apartment to the patio. The sun shone upon him like a spotlight, and an angelic babble issued forth as he waved his arms about like a preacher in full sermon. The language he was speaking was unknown to us, but it seemed like the right language, the one the voiceless world around him already seemed to understand, and the only one that corresponded to what was shining within.
I was sure Jones was performing a blessing, and it was humbling to feel just how lucky we were to be alive in this flimsy and glittering world, and to be lifted up beyond it by such small soft hands, even if just for a moment.
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Heidi now lives a life of glory with Rachelle’s parents about an hour north of Toronto. Today I have given the Blog over to her:
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Heidi so very happy and popular and good-looking.
Heidi in best shape of her life, too.
Heidi superstar.
Heidi have no idea why not on cover of Sport’s Illustrated big sex issue this month!
Heidi hot.
Make no sense.
Editor team so speciesist!
All very, very bad dogs!!
Heidi bite them in face if ever try to pet her.
Still, Heidi life so very, very, very good and when sleep come, it carry Heidi and Jones on same dream-river.
Dream #1
Heidi and Jones go running at night.
Full moon light in us.
Fast run.
Green run through wet meadow.
Wide run.
Above and behind the dark wind follows.
All night we give chase.
At end Heidi lick egg sandwich off Jones face.
Dream #2
Heidi and Jones not Heidi and Jones, but Eagle-Heidi and Eagle-Jones. Live in castle in mountains of France. Very nice castle. Bedroom in turrets. Like lofts. VERY expensive, but Eagle-Heidi and Eagle-Jones super rich. Can afford it no problem!
Fly so fast and high! See everything. Eagle-Heidi and Eagle-Jones terrible missiles! We protectors of freedom and liberty. Fly like beautiful rockets, destroying enemy drones with fierce talons. Boom! Drones explode into fire-light at our touch! Hah! Stupid drones!! Get one million dollars (US) for every dead drone. Eagle-Heidi better than Eagle-Jones at it. Eagle-Heidi kill 268 drones, Eagle-Jones 12.
Heidi always teaching Jones, even when Eagles.
Dream #3
Heidi and Jones at Dolly Parton concert.
Heidi fucking love Dolly Parton.
Get asked up on stage to sing Islands In The Stream.
Heidi love that song so much want to be buried in it.
Jones doesn’t know words and start to cry.
Heidi SO embarrassed she show Jones her teeth and then pee!
Dream #4
In dream Heidi and Jones partners in high school science class. Assignment to dissect frog, but Heidi get excited and eat frog before start!! Taste so good!! Not like chicken sushi as Heidi expect, but like hamburger! Weird but delicious hamburger without bun! Jones mad he didn’t get to stab frog and start to cry! Little baby throws temper tantrum and yells, “NO!”
Heidi no take shit.
Heidi disciplinarian.
German in Heidi.
Show him teeth and growl to let Jones know Heidi serious, and then Heidi see another frog and eat it, too. Heidi can’t stop herself, Heidi eat all frogs in class! And then Heidi get detention because Jones sucky tattletale.
Dream #5
Heidi and Jones on subway.
Two-legger accuse Jones of “Manspreading.” Take picture and says post on Internet to shame Jones!! Jones no understand and start to cry!! Heidi get so furious she bite two-legger throat! Perfect bite! And then subway change and traveling underwater! Glowing fish everywhere! Heidi wonder what glowing fish taste like, then notice Jones has lasagna on face and lick it off.
]]>He has a few words, but they’re still unreliable and slippery. His verbalizing remains musical, each vocalization a note to a song that lives only in him. And so we were startled when he began to utter words, words we had never heard him say before, with absolute clarity.
The first time, while upsetting his food, he suddenly stopped and clearly said, “Osprey.” He then receded back into his activities, but within five minutes our friend Ottilie showed up at the door. ( She was having a panic attack because she’d lost a contact lens.) It was a bit of a freak-out, that.
Did Jones have ESP?
Later, while he was throwing building blocks at our chandelier, he stopped and said, “Pree-Pree.” Two minutes later, the delivery of my cheeseburger from Burger’s Priest arrived.
It was at this point that I realized our boy had a gift.
And as I am a Tiger Mother Dad, I decided to immediately implement an ESP training plan:
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Ouija Board Exercise
My son and I seek to contact a spirit.
1. Jones flips ouija board over.
- Jones flips ouija board over.
- Jones flips ouija board over.
Pokemon Go Exercise
Pokemon Go uses the GPS in your phone to help you locate the “spirits” you must capture in order to win the game. After showing Jones a character from the game, I take him out into the city to see if he can lead me to the Pokemon in question without my help.
- Wigglytuff
Jones obsessed with stairs at front of apartment. Must climb up and down. Like baby robot obeying dark master. Feel like he’s been doing this for hours. Possessed? J certainly has his mother’s endurance, that’s for sure! Forgot to get her special grapes at the store! Fuck!!
2. Dewgong
Again Jones was dazzled by front stairs. Tried to lead him away but very, very stubborn!! Just dug in and yelled until I quit. Could a passage to a spirit realm exist there? Might have to start digging.
3. Ponyta
Jones drawn (summoned?) to empty bottle on street. Bangs it against twig as if conjuring super cute fire pony Ponyta. No Ponyta, though a Charmander was near. (N.B: Old Asian women dominant in bottle reclamation! WHY???)
Card Test
I select a playing card at random from a deck and attempt to telepathically transmit it to Jones.
- J sticks something dangerous and sharp from ouija board in his mouth. Next several minutes spent trying to take thing out of his mouth. Forgot card I was sending him.
- Jones finds raspberry bowl. Dumps on floor. Stamps. Purple red splatter everywhere.
Like Pulp Fiction in here. Actually traumatic. J then throws dust pan into my face knocking off glasses. Funniest thing he’s ever seen. Unresponsive to psychic message of 3 of Clubs.
- Concentrating on sending card while Jones screams. Shouting very piercing, very upsetting. Bad for health. Such a fucking headache. Sometimes just want to give up, turn into water. Take emergency pot brownie I keep wrapped in Kleenex in my pocket. Conclude experiment.
Fish in an aquarium:
Space flowers in flight, timeless in their wisdom.
Music:
Spirits come to make you happy. They move your body and you enter different lives, become more than before.
Speech:
Like rocks placed one in front of another, a path for those who can’t see.
Feathers:
The soft residue of worlds not our own.
Sand:
The idea of forever, where everything is the same size.
Mom:
Her voice, the scent and light of her hair, the home I will always return to.
- It’s late at night and I’m at my laptop playing WordCrack on Facebook.
I’m killing it. Words are just coming to me as if by magic. I’m easily the best WordCrack player who has ever existed. I am happy and at peace, surging through my life with the confidence and brilliance of an elite athlete. And then, amidst all the letters in the scramble, I see the name Jones popping up. I know it means something important and that it’s my duty to highlight and score the letters in order to keep my son safe, but when I try to do this, his name vanishes and appears somewhere else. I’m desperate, frantic in my attempts, but his name keeps eluding me, and then suddenly my time is up and I’ve failed. My score is zero. With a sense of dread I walk toward the nursery to check on Jones, but I know he won’t be there, that he’s gone, and that it’s my fault because I wasn’t a good enough WordCrack player.
2. Laetitia Casta and I are on a beach.
“Do you want me to climb up that tree and get you a coconut, mon cherie?” I ask her.
She says that she does and I shimmy up the tree with the greatest of ease. As I start to shake the tree, Laetitia does a cute, little dance for me down on the beach, “You are such a nimble, little monkey!” she says.
I can feel the sun on my face and the salt water breeze wafting through my hair. I am young and invincible. I shake the tree trunk a little bit harder, hollering like Tarzan, and this makes Laetitia laugh, and a coconut breaks free and begins to fall toward the beach, but instantly, it turns into Jones. I scream and throw myself after him, and I am falling for an eternity through a kind of darkness, never catching up to him, and then I wake up in a cold, poisonous sweat.
3. Rachelle, Jones and I are playing Risk.
I have amassed all my troops in Quebec and have assured myself victory, but Rachelle and Jones make a pact and gang-up on me. I try to be good natured about this, but inside I am burning with anger and jealousy. In short order they eliminate all my troops and knock me out of the game, laughing together as they do so. I start to scream at Jones, “You’ve always loved your mother more than me, always!!” And then I wake up feeling like an asshole, trailing this weight of shame behind me all day long.
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Rachelle: Is everything okay?
Rachelle: Oh.
Rachelle: Well, I don’t know why Netflix would be down.
Rachelle: But you’ve already seen Making a Murderer three times.
Rachelle: Yes, your thirst for justice is unusually obsessive.
Rachelle: No, strong. I wrote strong.
Rachelle: Must have been autocorrect.
Rachelle: Well, you’ll just have to be be brave, my love, I’m sure Netflix will be up and running soon and you can return to your Making a Murderer studies.
Rachelle: But tell me, how is Jones doing?!
Rachelle: Oh, he’s such a strong, little boy!
Rachelle: Well, you can’t take your eyes off him, you really can’t.
Rachelle: You should always be looking for his left.
Rachelle: Look, he always hits you with his left first. It’s his plan.
Rachelle: It’s not a dirty plan. He’s just a sweet, playful little boy!
Rachelle: So, just so you remember: The left comes first. And then when you’re dazed and trying to put your glasses back on, he will hit you with the right and then start kicking. Both feet. Every time, Pickle. You have to prepare for it.
Rachelle: I know he thinks it’s funny.
Rachelle: Well, I disagree, sometimes a bleeding nose can be very funny.
Rachelle: I know you get nose bleeds from the blood-thinning medication you’re on.
Rachelle: Sure. It’s not because Jones is stronger than you.
Rachelle: Yes, it is entirely possible you could still take Jones in a fight, but I wouldn’t bet on it.
Rachelle: He has muscle definition in his back. Do you?
Rachelle: So, he’s sleeping now then?
Rachelle: And you fed and changed him?
Rachelle: What does he look like sleeping? Does he look like an angel?
Rachelle: I don’t believe you’re in his room.
Rachelle: I think you just made that up.
Rachelle: He’s not talking in his sleep.
Rachelle: Send me a photograph of him sleeping.
Rachelle: Oh, you’re very clever.
Rachelle: I know you got over 130 on an online IQ test.
Rachelle: Pickle, you tell people you meet at parties that. You tell everybody that.
Rachelle: Yes, you are a genius, yet you still can’t drive or hold down a job. It’s fascinating, that.
Rachelle: Yes, the wildly misunderstood genius community is subject to a lot of bullying.
Rachelle: You’d think all those geniuses would be able to band together and cast a spell, but I guess I just don’t understand how genius works.
Rachelle: What?
Rachelle: Jesus.
Rachelle: Look, there is no way that Jones’ Exersaucer is haunted.
Rachelle: Yes.
Rachelle: It is creepy that it plays music of it’s own accord, and only when you’re in the room, but I don’t think it means it’s the Exersaucer of a dead child.
Rachelle: Well, no.
Rachelle: I don’t know the history of the Exersaucer.
Rachelle: Yes, I did buy it used.
Rachelle: Yes, so in theory it could have been sold by a grieving family that lost their child to a possessed and murderous Exersaucer.
Rachelle: I must say, watching Making a Murderer so obsessively really has really made you a better lawyer.
Rachelle: Netflix is back up, isn’t it?
Rachelle: I thought so.
Rachelle: Just don’t watch the horror stuff, okay?
Rachelle: It’s not good for you. Your doctors said so.
Rachelle: No, your doctors do understand genius.
Rachelle: Look, just throw a blanket over the Exersaucer if its scaring you!
Rachelle: Okay.
Rachelle: I will be back in about half an hour. You wanted the low sodium Triscuits, right?
Rachelle: Yes, I got it, LOW SODIUM.
Rachelle: Love you, see you and Jones soon, you’re doing great! xoxo
]]>This whole thing, this trek through the land of illness, has the definitive feel of an ancient Greek Odyssey, and I’ve come to believe that I’m on a hero’s quest.
Quietly, at dawn, as I’m wheeled down through the subterranean tunnels that connect the university hospitals, the porters serve as my guides.
Their various languages flock overhead, the mysterious syllables disperse above me and it’s like they’re communicating a kind of weather instead of words. Descending into this unexplored dimension we pass creatures and topography as strange and wonderful as mythology, my porter/guides taking me on obscure missions where I must slay monsters, solve riddles and exhibit great feats of strength and determination in order to inch closer to my destiny, to my ultimate goal.
And somewhere past imagination, our son Jones pours through space. Laid bare to mystery, he carries messages and lessons from beyond. He hurtles through the firmament now, our meteor, cresting planets with a fierce, unstoppable purpose– he’s everywhere at once, multivalent. He’s assembling in slow wonder inside my wife, while I, caught in a terrestrial and mortal struggle, battle to be present, hurrying to be there to catch him, when like some sort of impossible star descending, he falls into our life.
“This city has a serious raccoon problem. I’ve had some standoffs with some raccoons, seriously. I’m a big guy, powerful, a football player, and when I holler the trees shake, but the friggin’ raccoons, they just look at you. They’re not scared anymore. It’s a severe problem we’re having in this great city, and it’s only getting worse. They’re getting braver and braver by the day. I’m not a big raccoon fan, I’ll tell you that straight up. We have to kill them.”
As I have a personal relationship from the Mayor stretching back to our college days drinking together, he’s consented to give me a short interview exploring his feelings about the raccoon.
Me: “Rob, can you tell me about your most powerful raccoon experiences?
Rob: “ When I was in grade seven a raccoon climbed the fence and tried to enter into our family pool area to steal some food. Biggest mistake that raccoon ever made. Remember, I was drinking and getting high in those days, and when I saw that raccoon, I saw red, it was like I protecting the QB, you know? I started to chuck rocks at him, and I think the third one hit him square in the face, knocking him out. He was bleeding, and it was obvious that the merciful thing to do was kill him, so I bashed his head in with the ghetto blaster. It was messier than I would have thought, and one of the girls there, one that I liked, started to scream and cry and I knew getting some with her wasn’t going to be easy that night, and it was then that I realized the city had a really serious raccoon problem.
About a year later, and this lasted most of high school, I started to have these debilitating raccoon nightmares. Had to drop all my math and science and economic and history courses, the stress was so bad. I don’t want to talk too much about it, but it was like I was the last man on earth and all around me were these predatory ghost-raccoons trying to steal my stuff and eat my manhood. There was a bed-wetting issue for a while. You know, I wouldn’t have been able to admit that before, but rehab has taught me to be honest, so yeah, I wet my bed up until I was 18 and I’m not ashamed of it. It’s the fault of the raccoons, my fucking spirit enemy.
You might imagine how I hated them after all the years of nightmares and boring immersion therapy, and so Doug and I took it upon ourselves to just kill as many as we could. Using golf clubs mostly, we killed the hell out of them. We were athletes and we just felt compelled to win, you know? It was a, what do you call it? A holy war thing. We used to make necklaces out of their little fingers and then wear them to school dances. I guess you could say I’ve always had a special relationship with the raccoon.”
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