|You missed a spot.|
Small Beings in the House
are not exactly expressions of A Man Called Da-da
any more than a hand is a handful.
They spring into every day, nearly unconscious
wholly perfect and free and quasi-undisciplined
and of course loud as hell.
Perfect spirit, they appear to take on a physical body
if that body can keep up
and bounce that somatic rubber ball off the walls and cats and furniture
letting circumstance be their insane riding chicken.
That's why every being in the house
spontaneously ignores A Man Called Da-da:
they can't hear him over Ma-ma's screaming.
Sure, A Man Called Da-da gives birth to all house-made beings...
in a feckless Y-chromosome kinda way;
he nourishes them, maintains them
hoses them down, puts out their fires
totes around the unwieldy Pillar of Common Sense
and looks the other way when they knock it over;
he takes them back to himself as often as he can
creating without creativity
acting without acting experience
guiding without a goddamn clue.
That's why love of A Man Called Da-da
is an impossible thing not to do:
everyone loves the underdog.
[Excerpted from Da-da's latest book of SAHD-ness, The Tao of Da-da (or "Strong Winds CAN Blow All Day, Depending on How Much Sugar's Been Ingested"). Void where prohibited.]
|That's right, kid: Da-da's all heart.|