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Thread on fatherhood, guilt, responsibility and memory: So we are going through of an eight year flotsam and jetsam in her bedroom, emptying drawers and manicuring the stuffed animals, game pieces, leggos and whatnot and lo, but I see a tiny golf-ball sized koala bear....
...grey fur, black nose, hands clenched in a permanent grasp. “Whoa, I remember this little guy. He’s still with us?” And my daughter smiles immediately, either because she remembers or because back in the day I told the story enough to make her remember, I can’t honestly tell..
...But four winters ago, that koala was attached to my daughter’s winter jacket, gripping the pocket by the claws, when we left Homeslyce pizza, and sensing the inevitable, I was trying to reason with her...
...”Kid, you have had three slices of pizza, you are asleep on your feet and it is actually 7 degrees out tonight. And we walked her. So now, I am going to have to carry you for the six blocks home. If bear falls off your jacket, I will not see it fall and you will lose bear...”
“...wouldn’t it be better for me to put the koala in my pocket before we leave. That way we can sure...” No, Daddy. Just no. Bear rides with me. My bear. My jacket. “But, kiddo, if...” No daddy. He’s fine. “Okay, But...” Stop, Daddy. He’s fine. I make it absolutely clear...
“Listen, I just want to be clear that you are making a promise. You are promising that if we get home after me carrying you six blocks in freezing cold, and bear isn’t on your jacket, you are going to go straight to PJs and straight to bed and no crying about it because....”
Daddy, I promise. “You promise!” I promise. So twelve minutes later we get to the front door looking like infantry at Valley Forge and of course, no bear. And I look at her and say nothing, a promise being a promise. And she holds it together for all of four seconds before....
...she is wailing uncontrollably about how bear is out there all alone and it is cold and dark and he will never find his way home. Bear will die. Or be killed by some bigger beast like a car or a truck, crushed in the street when all he wants to do...
...is live and love and grow old in the bosom of our family. Please, daddy. You can’t leave bear to die in the cold. Bear wants to live. Bear loves me. I love bear. And so that was the night that we staggered back four blocks, retracing our steps all the way to Light St. where..
...the koala bear, his arms still outstretched, grasping not a fucking thing, was staring up at me with a weird smile, his grey essence highlighted on a small patch of white sidewalk. We walked home and I used the opportunity to teach my four year old daughter words...
...that I simply thought, by dint of her tender age, she would never ever ever remember. But today, seeing bear unearthed again for the first time in years, I had to remind her of or adventure. “Look who it is! Do you remember when we almost lost this little guy?” ....
Yep, she said. “Aren’t you glad you went back for the little fucker?” “I sure as shit am, honey.” “You were sure pissed off then, Daddy. But you’d’ve felt like a big asshole for life if you left that cutie in the street.” “So true, sweetie. So fucking true.”
Excuse the typos. Took a while and my flight is lining up soon.
Eight year *old’s*
Say hi to the folks, bear. 
