Powerlessness

After a being stewed in self pity and anxiousness in life’s crock pot this past week, I find myself savoring my existence in a fresh way tonight. I can’t say anything has really changed; my anxieties are still stacked on my desk at work, hanging from the blueprint racks, and heaped in the hard drives and in-boxes of my computer. My home continues to suffer from a profound lack of order, and I still lack the impetus to take any action to order my world (although I can find the mental energy to conduct hours of mental interrogation with others in my household, indicting them for sloth while absolving myself of the same). I hear the same cacophony that accompanies teenage sons, the same chaotic flurry that I experience almost every moment I live in this house. And yet on this night, I am experiencing a renewed, refreshing peace in the midst of my otherwise mundane domestic existence.

I have become powerless.

My twelve-year-old, Dan, has a friend here tonight. His name is Mikey, and he is an unassuming boy, small for his age and, from every observation, introverted. I reached this conclusion when I met him tonight and did my usual gag of getting his name wrong every time I spoke to him.

“So, Ricky, how do you like the sixth grade?”

Dan rolls his eyes. Mikey isn’t sure if I know his name, but is too polite to correct my conscious error.

“Mitch, it’s time to come downstairs and eat”

More orbs shifting upward. More confused silence from our young guest. I’m sure now that he either thinks I’m a nutjob, or is quietly un-amused.

One thing I have observed though: Dan and Mikey shared our “bonus room” (our family room over the garage), and yet were each engaged in their own activities, Mikey on the PC (watching JibJab flash videos over and over on the internet), and Dan on the Xbox. I encouraged them to turn off the screens and do something fun together. Resistant, blank stares provided only the briefest respite from their digital coma.

Now, two hours later, I’m watching them as they delightfully interact. Fifteen minutes hip-to-hip on the piano, sometimes playing the same song, sometimes not. For a moment, they play Beethoven: Mikey playing the Fifth in the lower register, Dan playing Fur Elise in the upper. It’s surprisingly harmonic. Now its on to some unidentifiable, polyrhythmic dance number, and then on to the great duet stand-by “Heart and Soul”, complete with knuckle solo.

Then it’s off to sword battles, accompanied by exquisitely chatty narratives of fantasy and dragons. They’re both talking at the same time. Floorboards creak; some unknowable item crashes to the floor. It’s off to a card game now, and then to a puzzle. Back to the swords, then on to scrabble (they call it “scabble” because, they say, they can’t find the “R’s”)

This remarkable resurrection of the CRT zombies was spontaneous, and delightful to behold. They, too, have become powerless.

Mike, my sixteen-year-old, although not visited this evening by the teenage angst which often takes residence in whatever room he occupies, still did not wander far from the television or Gamecube. Right now, he’s off to Walmart to buy some high-bulk food (“gotta gain six ponds by tomorrow, Dad….I need to wrestle at 119 ‘cause I think I can take that kid tomorrow”). He also took (GASP) his OWN MONEY to fill up his tank. Maybe he’ll stop by Blockbuster to get that video. This flurry of activity outside our humble domicile is not typical of Mike. But then again, he too has become powerless.

My lovely wife, Diane, went upstairs some time ago to put our bedroom in order. She emerged just now, accompanied by Dan and Herbie (errr...I mean Mikey) with black Glad bags full of clothes for good will. I would help her, but I’ve suddenly felt the return of contentment in my life during this brief moment, and finally found the inspiration to post my first full blog entry. Life is good when you’re powerless.

The electric company says the power may not come back on until midnight. They can leave it off until Monday for all I care – I’m just glad to have my family back.