The Ninth

Every once in a while I'm rudely reminded that life isn't like the movies. I’m disabused of the thought that I’m gonna live one way and things are gonna move in a certain direction, unfolding neatly, until a satisfying conclusion is reached. Because that thought isn’t based on reality. It’s not from any experience I’ve had. It’s all based on stuff I’ve seen on a screen. Scripted stuff, performed by actors, lit up and made up just so, and then edited toward perfection to tell a story.

You could argue my entire adult life has been a series of small readjustments as I accept that what I’ve known to be true reveals itself to be so much smoke and so very many mirrors. But every once in a while the smoke gets in my eyes and I run headlong into the mirror and I feel the need to complain about it.

It was called a "Night of Ideas" at the library. A spectacular name for a wonderful night at one of my favorite places. A special late-afternoon to late-night party with lots of fun things to do for the whole family. A chance to stimulate our brains and strengthen our bonds as we found new ways to interact with the world, express our thoughts and feelings, and interrelate with each other. We'd explore the many floors of that beautiful building as we explored our imagination. We'd run into old friends and make new ones. We'd bring paper and pens and make notes to ourselves so we wouldn't lose a drop of magic to forgetfulness.

Or so I imagined.

What it should have been called was “An Over-Crowded Day in a Government Building.” Lol maybe that’s too mean. It implies that somehow the people who work there didn’t put together a great event. And they did! I’m sure a lot of people had a good time. Not anyone who lives here at this house, but still. It was fine. It was what all of these things are like: I read the ad copy. I looked at the carefully chosen pictures. I…. bought into the story. And then I doubled down on that mistake by assuming it was for us. Because I wanted it to be what the copy said it would be and I want my family to be the kind of family it’s for. I want to be like a family in a story. But we’re just not. We exist in reality, outside of the bright lights of a set and

And also I didn’t just buy into what their copy said. I extrapolated. I put a shine on it. I thought about the best possible version of what they offered and polished it up with my own vision. The prime example of this being the number of people there. In my mind, there would be the perfect amount of people in attendance. Not a private showing, because that would be weird and awkward and put too much attention on us. No, not a private showing, but not too many people either. Just the perfect amount of people to fill in the spaces around us, allowing us to blend into the crowd but not be blocked or hindered by it in any way. In a movie, they would be the extras, and they would conveniently never be where we wanted to go.

I also created a movie version of my family. This is where it gets complicated. (And I’m reserving the right now to get into it more deeply at some other time.) The movie version of my family is very similar to their real-life counterparts. They look the same. They have the same personalities. But they’re more receptive to going out and doing things. They’re not perfect, but all of their problems can be reliably solved by a little time and some heartfelt conversations. And… they really fucking love books.

Alas, alack, etc, and so on, my children are not the avid readers I hoped they’d be. That’s just a fact. I don’t know if any parent can (in a healthy way) make their children into anything they’re not, but I tried. Well, I tried to cultivate whatever natural attraction they had to books. And maybe I was successful. Maybe they’re more into books than they would have been in the care of any other parent. It’s impossible to know. The world of counterfactual imaginings is infinite and easy to get lost in.

My wife is not what I’d call a “reader” though she probably reads more than the average person. My kids are literate. They read, but mostly only when they have to. Books are not the source of joy, comfort, wonder, or solace that they were and have been for me.

******************time jump in writing******************

I began this a few days ago and I’m rereading this and I' just don’t know where I’m going with this. If you read this far I congratulate you and can only offer my heartfelt thanks and apologies. All I’m saying here is we brought our kids to a thing we were pretty sure they wouldn’t like and I was disappointed to find out I was right. I love reading and books. My kids don’t, not nearly as much as me anyway, and that makes me kinda sad and I don’t know how to deal with it. I honestly don’t get what movies and TV shows have to do with it. Do movies ever feature families who just can’t get enough of books? Do TV shows ever have more than the one “nerd” character with a nose in their book? What am I even talking about?

I’m posting this anyway, despite it going off the rails because I think it’s kind of interesting how I was deep in my feelings about not being able to share my love of reading with the kids and it manifested as some weird meandering post about how film messed with my mind. Plus it fits my overall intent with this blog: to post on a (somewhat) weekly(ish) basis, sharing what’s going on in my life, and focusing on timeliness over polish.

I guess it all goes to show that you should be careful when leaving a night of ideas— you don’t want to come out holding on to the wrong one.