Gratuitous Dread Presence

Insert annoying Rolling Stones reference here

Went to a softball game last night. I haven't played since Joye went back to work. My team is a ragged group of people that we've just barely managed to keep together over the years. I've played for over 20 years now, and this season is the first time that I've missed more then one or two games. They won, 9-3.

Of course Frannie was the big hit. She was alert for most of the game in my lap. She had smiles for everyone, and one person showed me through her actions how to get Frannie to be content in the arms of someone new. I was in awe as she did it, and taking notes for a future visit to Grandma, so I can avoid the annoying crying in being handed to Grandma.

On my team, two members have significant tattoos. By significant, I mean tattoos that cover their arms and necks. So severe that my employer would only place one of them where I work, and he would have to wear a collared long sleeve shirt to do so. The other one looks badass, with a striking blond goatee with thinning blond hair.

Both men's tattoos were of the artistic type as opposed to the gang type. Looking at them, though, I could understand how people could confuse the two. I also realized that I never wanted to get a tattoo because I was always proud of the way my body looked as is.

The tattooed players on my team are bothers; the father also plays. He's in my age range, and he has no tattoos at all.

After another revolution

So I googled myself yesterday, and was pleasantly surprised to find a selflink on the second page. It was a poem I put up on Poetry.com a while back, viewable here.

Now my mornings consist of me surfing the net on a laptop and trying to make my daughter laugh. Then at 11:30, rush to dress in business casual and head off to my ongoing temp gig for four hours. I come home, have a nice conversation with Joyce as I re-assume parental duties, and she heads off to work.

Fortunately, Frannie is a good baby. Sleeps through the night without too much difficulty. Doesn't fuss much, and goes to sleep easily, as opposed to my son who fought sleep as if he would never waken again. I'm taking her to Southern California in a few weeks, and I'm actually looking forward to the flight—that's how good she is. But the best part is getting her to laugh.

I like laughing babies. I discovered this quite a few years ago when I was on a bus in western Des Moines. Sitting a seat or two in front was a woman with a baby that was about 6-9 months old. The child was staring at me intently, so I did what comes natural to me: I started making faces.

The baby reacted at once by waving his arms and laughing. His mother immediately looked around to see what made her son laugh, but I had returned to my stoic bus face. When she looked away, I made another face. Mom caught me that time.

After that time, I started doing it on a regular basis. Grocery store lines, bus stops, cars at stoplights. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't. Francesca likes to laugh, and it's easy to coax her smile into a giggle.

So the best thing I do each day is to make a kid laugh. It's such a simple task with no purpose then a few fleeting moments of joy for someone who doesn't really even know what joy is. It's such a meaningless task, but it seems so full if I am successful. For me, it's like an addiction.

Excuse me while I take another hit.