Here's to the fourth, baby love, and other things...

On the fourth of July, a holiday, papí and Mrs. papí and her sister were sitting around, thinking of something to do. We do not own a barbecue, and parades seem a bit strained just at this juncture. I hate to say it (not the part about the barbecue, although I appreciate some of the things one might do with a hibachi) but there is just not much pep in my step these days about the State of our Union.

I won't belabor this blog with a diatribe describing the minutiae of this unfortunate pass, but I only want to register that people are lined up against each other with rockets, bombs, and mayhem in their hands, and each seeks to make the rubble bounce between them.

Like the Electric Football game where the field vibrating causes the players to move about the grid. Only the vibration we are seeing, that moves each opposing side around the map, comes from weaponry and high explosive. Not to mention the money pouring in from both sides.

I acknowledge that the putative opponents of the Coalition of the less-than-creative-at-foreign-policy must also tote large bankrolls about, though the local insurgencies were effectively gifted tons of high explosives and armaments when the US declined to consign them to safe keeping.

Where the 'plays' of the electric football game became a litter of player shaped pieces, we only look to the paper to see what becomes scattered in the 'game' of Iraq. What's more the electric football outcomes might go forward or backward, and if there were a warp on the metallic grid, then everything gravitates towards that, without regard to 'goal lines' or the final tally.

The warp on the 'grid' of Iraq comes from oil. All the pieces when shaken through armed struggle merely gravitate towards more and more need of oil. Whether to sell or to buy, oil (forgive) lubricates the minds in charge of this conflict on either side.

"Well," you might think to yourself. "What do any of these ruminations apply to your baby?"

Good question, and indeed he is innocent of the stratagems and policies that led to (and carry out) this conflagration. His only sin arises from the complicity we all own in our position as American citizens. He will grow up with the responsibility to help undo or to mitigate the mangled affairs of papí and my contemporaries.

Of all the strident thoughts we might fancy on this Fourth, let us at least fashion in our hearts a touch of shame that such a vast variety of issues line up so poorly for the future generations of Americans.

This is not to ignore that Americans have it pretty terrific. But one in my position must consider the influences surrounding the newborn and toddler. We want the boy to eventually choose his activities from informed and educated reason. Or at least he ought to bring it from the heart.

But what does it say when all we see around us arises as if from thin air? What are the implications when our nation and all it stands for becomes more and more reviled over the way we treat others or don't treat others?

The situation seems a bit precarious when I examine it all in a whirlwind like this. People do put their feet on the ground in this world and do good work; but what about the essential complicity of being there where a 'criminal' enterprise is being developed and doing nothing to alert or defy the commission of the act?

How much is enough defiance? Who ought we alert? Wow, the world alternates from very small to very large depending upon each consideration...

...one small vignette out of the 'straight from baby' department: On Friday, I ran with the baby to a nearby store for groceries. As with any journey of a couple of miles away from home, I brought along the essential express bottle for the boy.

Reaching the checkout, and as the clerk took her time over learning the system, the boy looked up with a subtle tear in his eye and obvious need in his thoughts. This is how he communicates much of the time. If you ignore this stage of his communication, then be prepared for more drastic intonations.

I started speaking to him there in line: "Oh, you're eaty? I am going to get this to you right after this, okay?" Once through the checkout---it did seem to take a long time there---I made for some seats outside along the street.

By now the boy understood that we were going in the right direction, and joy played upon his face. I fed him a bit and rubbed his tummy. I kept feeding him, and the smiles made it a little difficult for him to become an efficient eating machine. It all took a while.

During this time, Mrs. papí called. We spoke for a while, and then I told the boy: "Your mamí is calling." He could not contain himself. This smile ejected the bottle from his mouth and he chortled softly with his head upraised. Papí in his surprise nearly lost the bottle in the boy's lap.

Cheers.