Wednesday, October 12, 2011

The Best of Dagsly: Boys of Summer

I copy/pasted this from my old MySpace blog. I wrote it just over five years ago and thought some people I've met since then might want to read it. Plus I'm bored. Enjoy!

I decide to take Little Man to the baseball field a block from our house after dinner. We cross through my neighbors backyard to get to the street. My neighbors ex-husband is living with her and her boyfriend right now. He's older and he has terminal cancer. He's living his last days with them. As we walked through their driveway he was in his car smoking pot, something he does to settle his stomach so that he can eat. Some people would just smoke and get it done with, but he likes to chill in his car and listen to loud music while he does it. I guess it's a throwback to when he was younger. Nicole and I are pretty cool with this since it's always around dinner time, never later than 7, and he has pretty good taste in music. Little Man and I wave to him in his car and we make our way down to the baseball field. His music has faded by the time we make it to the corner. I thought it would last a little longer. It's cool out. It's in the upper 60's but it seems like it should be hotter. Dog days of August, global warming. Why isn't it hotter? We're both wearing shorts but could easily be comfortable in jeans. I put Jonathan down and he runs for a few dozen yards. They've planted grass on the base clearings and lowered the pitchers mound. Soccer goals are up, but netless, and lines for soccer are on the field. He swings in the tot swing behind the dugout for a few minutes, but then wants to get down. We walk back into the field. In short center field, I sit for a minute and then lie down on my back. It's about the area where a bloop single might fall in between the second baseman and a center fielder playing too deep. I hold Jonathan above me for a few seconds and watch his giggling smile, then I rest him on my chest. When I put him down I see the sky, thick gray overcast clouds with small patches of blue poking through occasionally. I turn my head and see it's clear to the north. Jonathan slides off my chest and wanders around me, staying within arms reach. The cool weather and the clouds remind me that it's the end of summer. Technically there's still a month left, but you know when it's over, you just know.  Jonathan sits down and leans his little back against my left side. He grabs my arm to position it around him. He experiments with a few variations but then find exactly where he wants my arm to be. The he goes to work on my fingers and after he has them set he slides his arms down behind mine so he's totally contained, and therefore totally content. "Don't ever stop needing that." I say out loud to him. "Don't ever stop wanting to be near me." He wiggles out and walks around to my legs, lying down and resting his head on my thigh. The state fair started today. I could see the rides in motion on my way home from work. It's the last rest stop on the road to Autumn. Jonathan rolls over, lifts up my shirt and zrrbts my belly. I giggle and he does it again. I sit up and he wanders away a bit and lies on his back propped up by his elbows. He looks a lot older in that position, like it's something too old for a one year old to be doing. I walk over and pick him up and he clutches me. By the time we get to the road I've put him up on my shoulders and we can hear the old man's smoking music. He's not done quite yet.

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Inspired

Christmas day 1983. I am six, just a few months younger than my son is now. Under the tree is an Apple IIc computer. 128k of RAM, a display that is green on black. This is my introduction to the world of computing. I use it every chance I have. I love every second of it.

October 5th, 2011. I am on my bed, reading tweets on my iPhone. My son Jonathan comes upstairs. He wants my phone to play Fruit Ninja. "Not right now." I croak out. He can tell I'm sad and asks what's wrong. I tell him someone has died.

"Was he your friend?"

"No, I never met him, but I would have liked to. He inspired me."

"What does inspired mean?"

I tell him that inspired means that I saw what he did, what he was able to do with his life, and it made me think of what I can do with my own life. I tell him how he changed the way people view technology. I tell him how scared people were of trying to use a computer.

"Why?"

I try to tell him what computers were like in the early 80's and before, how hard it was to use a computer, and how very few people could do it. I try to describe how you had to type in lines of text to make the computer do anything. No music, no pictures, no games, no movies.

He has no idea what I'm talking about.

He can't even picture it, the whole idea is so foreign to him. He's lived his entire life surrounded by futuristic technology that sprung from the mind of this man I mourn. We've always been able to play full-color games on phones and talk to grandma on the computer. We've always been to listen to any song we wanted whenever we wanted. We've always been able to discover a restaurant we've never heard of, in a city we've never been to, get directions there, and then have our friends meet us there, in seconds, with just a few taps on a screen.

I tell him how the world has changed. I tell him how people use technology in ways they never knew were possible back then. I tell him how I meet amazing people I never would have met before. I tell him how they use it to create the cartoons he loves.  I tell him how they use it to make music, like my cousin Dan does, and how they make movies and buildings and fight diseases, all of it on computers. I tell him how all of it came from the ideas this man had about making computers accessible to everyone and it revolutionized the world and how someday, he could revolutionize the world too, and how that is what it means to be inspired. It means to think of something that no one ever thought was possible and make it a reality. I tell him we have the tools to create amazing things and that we stand on the shoulders of an icon.

Jonathan tells me about how Spongebob and Patrick accidentally knocked down Squidword's house. He cuddles up to me and gives me a hug. "Wasn't that funny? See, now you're not sad anymore."
And I'm not. And I love every second of it.