It’s the first nice cool, cloudy day of fall. A chill is keeping the birds away from the skies over the Hudson River. This morning, for the very first time, I’m baking bread with Harper helping me as her Mom gets some much needed rest. By helping, I mean staggering around the kitchen banging a wooden spoon on her head and occasionally screaming nonsensically. But every so often I pick her up, show her the ingredients that I am mixing and explain the process to her. Some day she’s going to bake bread for me, and it’s going to be good.
We took Harper to the first birthday party for her buddy Leo today out in Northern Bergen County, NJ. Suburban USA. While Leo’s folks are hip, the family wasn’t. Everyone there was ex-military, coached wrestling at the local high school and golfed. People kept “complimenting” Harper’s dress. It was only later that I realized it had a pattern made up of vintage tattoos. Lots of skulls, knives, naked hula girls and bottles of rum.
Harper demanded caviar with dinner tonight. As in, full-on screaming, kicking, flailing and wailing until we served her some caviar. The second it was in front of her she smiled like an angel and began popping it into her mouth.
I’m a Dad now and doing my best to live up to it. Still and all, the last two texts I sent were:
"I can get us backstage for Puddles the Sad Clowns show."
"Heard a rumor that Scummo got out on parole, can you confirm?"
That’s the number of names on the invitation list for Harper’s First Birthday Party. I haven’t added any of mine yet.