Excuse me while I flush my brain

I miss blogging when I have to skip the process for a few days. I enjoy reading about the exploits and pontifications of others. I enjoy writing posts of my own. It is, as the title of this post suggests, a sort of brain-flushing or purging system for me. With my tiny brain, I am compelled to push out current preoccupations to make room for the ones that will take their place tomorrow. When I occasionally get too busy with life and work to enjoy the daily blogging routine, or as much of it as I can manage on any given day, I miss the routine. And, I feel congested.

Life goes on though, whether we are actively observing what goes on around us or not. Every day the news is full of stuff I would rather not know about. New day, same shit. We never seem to learn. Murder, rape, abuse, theft, fraud, it's all there, every day. Interestingly, I think that if the news were nothing but good news, no-one would read, watch or listen. I won't go so far as to suggest that the entire human race is guilty of Schadenfreude, but I do think that there is some sort of perverse fascination with evil and violence. I don't understand it.

I used to be able to speak a lot about life and ideas with my son, but as he is now fifteen and more independent and working part-time, it is becoming more difficult. When we do have a moment when we can share a dialogue, I try to sneak in little parables and life examples that will make particular points about the value or advisability of something, anything at all to give him some notion of how to gauge how to live his life honourably and productively. Anyone who knows me will attest to the fact that I have lived a chaotic and sometimes frustrating life, and that there were times when perhaps I should have zigged rather than zagged. We won't tell my son about his daddy's imperfections, will we? Let's keep those secrets to ourselves.

Actually, I do tell my son about my past life, including the things I would rather forget. I explain to him that there are numerous ways to make mistakes as you grow up, and I've made my share. I explain to him that when I did things that might not have worked out as I might have wanted them to, it was at least partially out of ignorance. I loved my parents, but I may as well have been an alien given to them to raise, I was so very different from them in many ways. I wasn't able to communicate as much as I would have liked with my parents. Because I connect with my son on a more fundamental level than I was ever able to do with my own parents, I hope he will accept the fact that when I tell him: "Been there, done that, regretted it, don't you make the same mistake," I am only trying to help.

Time will tell, of course. So far, save for the occasional bump in the road, the raising a son journey has been fun and educational for me. I hope he will be able to say the same.