One Man’s Trash

Photo by tamara garcevic @kiwitam

January 2022

Seeing my son squatting in a pile of trash on the side of a major thoroughfare is the perfect metaphor for how I feel I'm doing as a father.  Maya and I have just departed the home of a family friend with the intention of taking Taishan to a nearby playground.  He adamantly disagrees with being confined in a car seat, so we concoct a brilliant scheme to split up. I will walk to the park while carrying him, and Maya will drive the car. A quick consultation of google maps shows the park to be a completely doable 4 minute walk.  I take off down the block clutching Taishan confidently in my arms and making a brisk pace towards the playground.  As soon as I make the first turn, intuition tells me I’m going the wrong way. I cautiously proceed one block further, and at this point I am certain I am going in the opposite direction of the park.  I pull out my phone with my left hand while struggling to keep Taishan secured to my midsection with my right arm.  As he gyrates and tries to slither out of my grasp, I return to google maps and am angered to realize that I have been led astray towards a random parking lot. The actual park is a 20 minute walk to the south. There is no way I can contain this squirming primate any longer, and I am approaching my panic zone.  

I call Maya and urgently request that she come pick us up, while Taishan violently protests his confinement.  He turns up his whining to full volume, squirts through my fingertips and begins running in circles as fast as his little feet will carry him across the sidewalk.  He just took his first steps one month ago, and I am scrambling to keep up with this illogical, evolutionary leap in his physical prowess. I’m playing the role of one handed goalie, shuffling from side to side, keeping my body in between him and the street as I frantically yell our location to Maya and demand she come immediately.  Cars are rushing by at 40 miles per hour just behind my back.  I hang up the phone and snatch Taishan up with both of my arms, a gesture that causes him to launch into a full blown tantrum.  He is screaming at the top of his lungs and flailing his limbs like he is being exorcized.  I hold on for dear life and turn the corner to escape the danger zone of the busy street.  

We stumble upon a dumping ground of children's toys that look like they've been stored in someone's moldy garage since last century.  We both stare slack jawed at the mountain of baby walkers, dolls, stuffed animals, and black garbage bags full of unknown treasures. Taishan’s exorcism morphs into a nuclear explosion. There is no force in the universe that can contain this raging bull. I do my best to squat down as he slips out of my hands so that he doesn't face plant on the concrete.

I try to keep calm and use the “gentle parenting” approaches I’ve been reading about.

“I don't want you to go over there.  Those toys are dirty and you can get sick if you touch them.”  I try to reason with him.

He looks at me as if I just suggested I want to murder his kitten.  Tropical storm Taishan is now tearing across the street. I turn my back to the busy street with arms fully extended and shuffle sideways, forming a human shield to block my son from any potential vehicles that might turn the corner.  

Reverting to a child-like state of frustration I blurt out, “Fine, you want to play in trash, then go ahead!”  

While he is distracted by the smörgåsbord of filthy objects, I scoop him up from behind and plop him down inside of the baby walker, which is fully crusted over in grime.  There are a series of spinning balls that sprout from the edge of the walker which are positioned directly at his eye level.  He starts hitting the balls furiously with his hands and erupts into ecstatic laughter as his fingers become coated in sticky black goo.  I am completely unable to be present and stubbornly refuse to join in his joy parade. 

My nervous system is overloaded by the fear of him getting hit by a car or contracting tetanus.  I am triggered by his refusal to listen to me, by the betrayal of google maps, and by Maya taking too goddamn long to come and rescue us. I sit down on the curb and bury my face in my lap.  I want to scream. I want to cry.  Instead I just stare hopelessly at my son who is having the time of his life.  He is surrounded by garbage as cars continue to whizz by in the background.  I wonder if anyone sees what is happening and if I will be reported to Child Protective Services for being an incompetent father.

Maya pulls up to the curb and hops out of the car with a level of spunk that feels incongruent with my emotional state. 

 “Wow, what did you guys find? Look at all this cool stuff!  Let's take this walker home.”  She gleefully chirps.

She gathers Taishan in her arms and points out all the toys she wants me to stuff into our car.  I reluctantly follow the orders, as she seamlessly transitions Taishan into his carseat. Our trunk gets filled to capacity with dusty plastic toys and stuffed animals. As soon as we get in the car and drive away, Taishan falls into a deep sleep.  I gaze dreadfully out the window and wonder what has become of my life. 

~

For a musical exploration of death, click the image below to listen to ‘Immortal.’

“Living in a body is not for the faint of heart

There’s billions of problems, that can knock you off your mark

Reading books in volumes, does not make you smart

Rather how you are responding to the the light and the dark”