Seriously, how did I get here?

Arriving at boot camp is a very interesting experience. Your stage of anticipation is set over the duration of a two hour bus ride from the airport. A bus load of nervous kids, who have no idea what to expect chatter incessantly about where they are from, what they want to be, or what music they’re listening to. They talk about ANYTHING but that feeling in the pit of their stomachs. You arrive and are given four seconds of very specific instructions by a guy in a smokey bear hat, which basically boils down to “Get your ugly faces off this damn bus!”

You then fall all over yourself and scramble to line up on the markers out on the street. Then they yell at you for a good ten minutes and you rush inside to screen your belongings, which mean they pretty much throw everything you own in giant trash cans. After an hour and a half of very condescending instructions, they bring you to your temporary squad bay and give fifty five guys approximately eight minutes to shower, shave, and line up next to your bunk. After you are instructed to lie in bed at attention, they cut the lights out. There in the darkness the only sound you hear is a faint whimper from some guy who was terrified by the entire dog and pony show. That’s when you have the thought. It’s a thought that happens periodically throughout your life that causes you to snap back in to reality and truly see the absurdity around you. “How in the world did I end up HERE?

I would imagine that the “how did I end up here” thought happens more frequently as you get older. Somehow you have to come to terms with the realities of your life and its contrast with the ideas you had about life as a child. It’s not a bad thought, at least not always. It’s more a grasp to swallow the surrealistic nature of what it’s really like to be an adult. I find that being a parent seems to really increase the frequency at which these moments occur. In fact, I had one yesterday as I stood out in front of our local pharmacy spraying chunks of vomit off of their sidewalk with a water hose. It was like an out of body experience. Therefore, I’d like to share a short list of some of my “How did I end up here” moments as a parent.

My oldest son, Jackson, had a LOT of ear problems as a small child. After our first ENT’s third chance to get tubes in his ears, he referred us to the buddha of ears at Children’s Hospital in New Orleans. Over a year and a half long period, we probably had about fifteen appointments. Amanda’s job, at the time, was not very flexible with days off, so I took him to the doctor alone a handful of times. If you know Amanda and I very well, you know that we are extraordinarily co-dependent and thus do not do many things alone. Our marriage is a team sport. So this one man trek to uptown NOLA was sure to be quite an adventure.

In order to keep Jackson, who was about two and a half at the time, happy during our hour long commute I do what any insecure parent does, I surrounded him with junk food and fruit juice. By the time we hit Tchoupitoulas Street he has a curiously green look on his face. About three blocks from the hospital Jackson mumbles “Dada,” and as I turn around he sprays a conglomerated mixture of gummy worms, potato chips, and apple juice all over himself, the seat in front of him and most of the back seat. It was a river that just kept flowing. He began crying loudly, trying desperately to wipe it off of his hands, as I swerve in to the hospital parking lot. Realizing that I did not pack extra clothes, I’m left with only one choice.

The facial expression on the lady at the front desk was quite memorable. You would think that a woman who comes in to contact with every patient at a children’s hospital would be completely desensitized to a man and his child covered in multi-colored vomit from head to toe. Instead, she jumped back and sat motionless as I explained my predicament and asked for any help she could give. At least, that’s what I thought I asked. I had a hard time concentrating since Jackson had not yet stopped screaming in to my ear. Finally, she brought me to a back room and offered me a plastic bag to put his gross clothes in and some clean, warm sheets to wrap him in. Once I got all the gunk off, I stood there in my under shirt, holding my now-soothed child, staring at mount throw-up, and it hit me. I was over-whelmed by the fact that an infinite amount of decisions, be them what clothes to wear or where to live, led me to standing in a small room in a hospital in NOLA, holding a child, staring at a pile of stinky clothes, while somehow feeling like a disillusioned hero. “How in the world did I get HERE?”

Not all of these moments, as a parent, are centered around bodily functions. Most of them are, just not all. Another moment inducing realization is the fact that your running buddies change. And no, this is not one of those single people have more fun things. This is more about the fact that in order to socialize your kids, you are forced into loose relationships with other parents that maybe wouldn’t be in your crowd otherwise. I won’t go in to specifics because I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but some people have very different concepts of what’s appropriate in mixed company. Let’s just say that I will live the remainder of my life unable to forget the story of random mother A’s episiotomy. You know what that is? That’s assault. She assaulted me by forcing me to know that. As far as I’m concerned, she could’ve had her baby delivered via FEDEX; I don’t need the details.

Finally, I’ve decided that I know why parents take so many pictures of their kids. It’s because they are so freaked out by the responsibility they’ve undertaken, and are simply capturing evidence of the result of their decisions. Every time I whip out a picture of my boys I’m not only sharing the pride I feel about them and their accomplishments, I’m also giving you a glance into my psyche. If you look carefully you will see that every picture is not only a reminder of “how in the world did I get here,” it’s also a “where in the world do I go from here” moment. You see, that’s the freakiest thing. Once you identify that millions of seemingly meaningless decisions led you to where you are, the prospect of every future decision seems much more weighted.