What? 2019

To pick up

So many years later, I owe an update at very least. My boys have grown. I thought I wanted them to grow, to be self sufficient, to be kind, good men, but lately, I miss their priceless pronunciations, their squeals, their bouncing runs—just joy personified.

Little packages of enthusiasm, stuffed small and bursting emotionally. I miss their cheeks and small teeth in big smiles. I can’t remember why we bickered or how they tattled, and I’m at a complete loss in remembering why I’d thought they were so big. They weren’t. I wondered if all parents do this, misremember their babies with deep felt nostalgia. I wondered if our relationship was sculpted early on, in a way that aged us all, with responsibility and cooperative purpose. I used to wonder that a lot…always—a deep doldrum moan in the bottom of my head, reminding me that they would always have a chip...and that I put it there. Isn’t that awful? It’s true though, albeit quiet, and now relegated to the part of my brain where I know I’m not good to myself. Did I make them grow too fast, without thought?

Nah.

But they are grown, in a matter of speaking. They are people. Real ones. Different than I am, and better in some ways. It’s wild to see, and to remember “tread lightly, they are molding a persona.” I said that in my head in a “hunting wabbit,” sort of way. They are becoming, and are starting to pick up some of the tools I gave them, while discarding those that aren’t applicable to their unique selves. And they are cool guys. I’d like to be either Maxwell or Nate when I grow up; they have smart heads, fun wit, sweet hearts, and lots of interesting quirks and passions. But while I think and think and process to death my impact on their actions, I’m fully aware that my person- to them- is a figmented emotion. They would likely not regard my parenting as thoughtful and deliberate because of that weird inhuman thing we do to our closest loves; how we take for granted their humanity and fragility, because they are resoundingly present. The other factor and difference in the parent child relationship for my boys is the annoying real time piece. I write this stuff as or after I process, and thus piece together the fly-aways, that were livid specs of emotion, in the moment. In the moment, I am alive and human and reacting. In the moment, they are dealing with their Kazoo who is acting human, which must be annoying, 

or maybe not.

Maybe our situation and partnership just introduces empathetic understanding a little earlier than usual. Who knows. Especially given how very different the boys are—who can really say? Nate has been wired to comprehend emotional root, impediment, and action since he was a toddler. It’s been a great weight to bear for him, and one that he wielded with grace and humor. As he grows ever close to the adolescent abyss, he’s come to question those beautiful intuited readings, and turned adolescence into a time to discover a less transparent approach to life. Where he fully embraced me as a human before, he is now wondering if such is normal; adjusting mentally and physically to create a wall and his own space. Max is entirely opposite in that his wall has long been, and with adolescence, a wider perspective has been cast. While I might have predicted a fearful approach to the realization of an enormous world, Maxwell seemed relieved for the space and air and possibility to be. I know that over the course of about six nights together, Max seemed forced to grasp that parental empathy, and behaved as a friend more to me, regardless of whether this psychological connection was prematurely made.

Natey, or Nate (meh, still Natey at home), is a writer, a reader, loves wrestling, skateboarding, rock climbing, and excellent humor. He’s just found classic rock, and is following a wondrous path; rooting from Queen, Bowie, Led Zep, and a little Black Sabbath. He’s been desperately looking for a better identity than his own, and is beginning to come around to an identity that is very very much like the one he ironically, originally wore. I’m not sure he’s figured that out yet, since this search for self has happened in an ever-shrinking, pinhole perspective. I believe an egotistical ground is needed to quiet the empathetic input he’s always received, and helps to focus on who he really is. The day-to-day result of Nate’s adolescent discovery has been trying, in a totally new way from what I learned with Max, but I get it. It’s actually pretty logical, and super cathartic. Nate is amazing with language, and his writing and voice have stopped me dumbfounded in my daily tracks. He continues to be someone I cannot believe I know, and if we all get through this part in one piece, we shall have some greatness on our hands. He dances in reflections of store windows, he reads vociferously, he climbs like a sinuous spider, he sings and talks and puns and rhymes and loves hard and with heart. He’s a good young man.

Maxwell is in high school. The world that leaves many (myself included) scrambling for a categorical home, has given Max a sort of freedom to flourish, without holds. He is still a reader, loves epic stories and novels, challenging feats, dead languages, romantic tradition and culture, magic illusion and slight of hand, and excellent humor. He’s just found the guitar and loves all beautiful, heartfelt music. Over months of dedication, Maxwell taught himself introductory bagpipe breathing, acoustic basics, card and coin magic, and found his essence a home in the detailed, deliberate, driven, and devoted elements of life. Within this home, he has soared quietly, and compartmentally from us (me and Nate). So I’ve the unfair advantage of watching and processing more with Max’s ascension than when in the trenches with Nate. Max has people now-trusted friends, and is still searching- in that way we all are in life- still learning, and is facing the world unabashedly and enthusiastically. Pretty great. The day-to-day result of Max’s adolescent discovery has been unfolding, and how Nate and I factor in will be on Max’s terms and timetable. Maxwell is equally amazing with language in a much less flamboyant way. He places his words carefully, but his most poetic and lyrical sentences come when he throws caution to the wind, letting the meaning of his words lead his speech. He’s quick, super super quick at study and sport; his mind and body function steps faster, naturally, than many folks. He has used his powers for good, not anger, and is striving to be his best (whether he acknowledges this or not). I see it all, and swell. He continues to be someone I cannot believe I know, and, again, if we all get through this part in one piece, we shall have some greatness on our hands. How lucky am I? He disappears in reflections and prefers to go unnoticed, he reads and researches and learns with fervor, he climbs and runs like an elf who makes every step look elementary. He sings, still, and helps, and is tickled by the ridiculous. He is nostalgic, a bleeding romantic, loves hard and with heart. He’s grown and truly becoming a man.

This year I proposed a week long reunion with my boys. Nate chose a week in New York City’s midtown, uptown, and awake all night-town. Maxwell chose the woods. I’m not the same as I was in 2015’s Costa Rica, but you’ll get the gist of my last few years, as I write, and perhaps these dark nights off the grid will allow me to backfill some more.

*Please note photos in Alaska gallery were taken by Maxwell and Danielle Reuter