Block Party

I looked out onto the Maple Avenue block party.  I looked out onto the bouncy house and the face painting and the sidewalk chalk and the Talking Heads song “Once In A Lifetime” popped into my head.

“…you may find yourself in a beautiful house…with a beautiful wife…and you may ask yourself…well, how did I get here?”

Not in a “Boo hoo I used to go to punk shows and get tattoos and wore a fur coat un-ironically” kind of way.  But more in a “Well, how did I get here” kind of way. 

I hesitated on the curb.  Was I able to jump in with both feet?  Was I able to fully embrace my suburban dad-ness?  I liked pretending I was a cool guy who just happened to have two kids.  I wasn’t one of THESE people.  Or was I?

Just then, Luca grabbed my hand and informed me there was a fire truck coming and we’d get to look inside and they’d shoot water at the kids.  And I decided to not just jump in, but cannon ball into dad-ness.

I ran round with the boys.  I talked to Dads.  I talked to Moms.  I double-fisted pink lemonade and painted both Luca’s face and the sidewalk he stood on.  We looked into the fire truck. 

I kissed Elijah’s boo boo and ate boy discarded pizza crusts and half hot dog after half hot dog. 

It was glorious.

And if I was ever worried that my punk rock roots were gone forever, someone pooped in the bouncy house.