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New Age Dad

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  • Mathew Morrell
    I m drinking my usual today at Starbucks, a $1.75 grande decaf---no room for cream. Spread across my lap is my physics text book, and at my feet is my
    Message 1 of 1 , Dec 31, 2005
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      I'm drinking my usual today at Starbucks, a $1.75 grande decaf---no
      room for cream. Spread across my lap is my physics text book, and at
      my feet is my briefcase. Sunlight is pouring through the tall coffee
      shop windows and illuminating the steam rising from my coffee cup.
      It's a cold morning, about 28 degrees. Yet people are outside on the
      deck, with their cigarettes and their paper cups. The curls of smoke
      look gorgeous in the radiance issuing from the sun on this bright,
      cold, Saturday morning.

      Inside I'm half-listening to the Charlie Parker piece, half-watching
      a new-age dad at the other end of the room. I can hear him, although
      vaguely, above the saxophone. He is reading from a story book in an
      exaggerated, child-like voice while his small, little boy passively
      listens. Reading to your kid is good, I thought. Dads should read
      to their kids. Opens their souls to inner landscapes.

      I return to my coffee. It is getting cooler now, and I take a sip.
      Because of my detachment I am able to analyze my emotions without
      becoming overwhelmed by feeling. I speculate. New-age dads always
      talk to their children, as if they themselves were children. That's
      not right.

      A minute ago the dad was reading to his child, now he's playing.
      They've got some plastic toys spread over the table and the father is
      making quit a show of the pink bunny. He's making buck-tooth
      impressions. I don't like the father's energy. It's scattered and
      manic. Ever since he entered the coffee shop his energy has been
      going in too many different directions.


      On the ethereal level I envision flashes of energy darting from the
      father's etheric body, as he becomes weaker and weaker of strength,
      as he expels more of his life force through nervous activity. There
      seems to be no grounding center, no I AM, to coalesce and harmonize
      these magnetic life-impulses, no causa active, no acting cause. For,
      he was without self. He's like many of us here, at Starbucks. We've
      been feminized to the point where-in we, as men, don't know who we
      are. We actually think it's our role as fathers to entertain and
      stimulate our children, not to be guiding lights and bringers of
      wisdom; not to be men grounded in positive masculine energy, but a
      playmate. I send the new age dad a thought through my eyes: Your
      kid doesn't need another friend. He needs a father, you fool!
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