Radio Nowhere


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Radio Nowhere



“Daddy, will I be forgotten?”


“Sky is Falling”  © C.P. Hickey 2015

Lying in bed with the kids after story time, and Atticus casually says:
“Daddy, will I be forgotten?”
It hit me like a hammer blow to the gut. I try to comprehend how my little 6 year old boy could harbor such a worry in his heart.
It’s was strange to have the back and forth that followed, and somewhat full of love and grace.
Prior to his question, earlier today, he came to hear Lissette and I talking about the little boy that was killed in Barcelona, in last week’s terror attack.
“Daddy, will I be forgotten?”
“Absolutely, not, Atty, that’s why we named you Atticus. And your sister Lenore, and your brother Paul. You will have children and grandchildren, and you will never be forgotten.”
Heavy lifting on a Sunday Night. More hugs, more cuddles, more kisses.
If you know me, then you know how deeply I reflect on mortality. I just never thought it would be something that my 6 year old child would worry about.
The kids surprise me everyday.

Bran Flakes and Heartaches…but Get a Load of dem dar Sunflowahs


Regularity is a good. Most especially for kid’s bedtimes and stupped colons. If you don’t have regularity for either, there is no end to the amount of shit that can keep you in distress if the schedule is not adhered to. This past weekend posed a great challenge to my parenting ability.


Learning curve is large, and keeping my ego in check is impossible at times. A need a shepherd to lead me to the land of the reinvigorated. I lament the absence of my forebears for the comfort that relating shared experience could have provided. Necessity calls for me to believe that they had to have known. And I smile at the humor I could have provided them for my bold ambition in trying to create sustained peace among my brood. Chaos reigns for periods of 12-14 hours, then decompression, disbelief, and the acceptance of it reoccurring the next day.

Don’t be fooled by my malaise. I’m an extremely lucky man, and I’ve sown this outcome. I love it. Them. Us.

Sometimes, I just need to blow off raindrops, and wiggly-waver in the breeze. Sitting in the sun, shining on.