It’s a She

It’s a she. What am I supposed to do with that? I have no idea how to feel. A son, yes, I feel I can do it, I can even imagine talking to Bruce in twenty years time without him hating me. I have so much to tell him. But a daughter? What could I possibly have to say to a girl?

She was born just this last Friday, and her name is Marnie. Excellent news, proud and happy – I feel everything I’m supposed to feel. Except there’s all this other stuff that no-one seems to to talk about.

For one, how the hell did this happen? One moment I’m floating blissfully on my once true love, Someday, and then bam, I’ve got a very pregnant Scottish blond on my arm, waddling down the hall of the maternity ward, my two-year old boy at my sister-in-law’s. Sister-in-law? I’m married? WTF?

I like my life now, but I’m also worried rife. There’s no room for mistakes anymore – especially not the big ones. I worry that this may well result in less risk. I worry that without risk I could well ossify and die.

I want to pull a Sarah Conner and send my son messages into his future. I want to prepare him for the revolution. But do I have the guts to throw down the security of this soul-destroying consumer lifestyle in order to lead my family into that righteous future that we must so obviously embrace? Can I still live this double life, where I am anguished by the unjust rulings of our corrupt, controlling governments and the greedy, sociopathic drive of our corporations, and yet also lead the very life they both expect, whereby I am just another robot gladly bending over at their whim?

I will tell my son about the lies. My passion will be boundless. He will look at me, his gaze holding, intense at first, interested, but I can see him disengaging as he takes stock of what I’ve said. He’ll think for a moment, and then I need for him to say to me: bullshit. I expect to fail in so many ways in Bruce’s eyes, but this one capacity I must impart. Have the guts. Call them like you see them. Bullshit. You’re like everyone else, Dad. You do what you’re supposed to do. You always have. You’re telling me about making a difference, you’re telling me about challenging the status quo, you’re telling to stick it to the man, but what the hell have you done about any of these things? Nothing. Oh, right, you sailed a boat that one time. Good going Dad. But you spent all your waking hours in front of a computer screen, churning out code for the man.

He has me. All my ideas and dreams peaked long ago. All I’m left with is angst and worry over my ability to provide for my family in a fucked economy. Gone is the general expectation of better things. We are many of us hunkered down now, living from month to month. We were promised the Earth, and oh, they made good on that one alright. There’s almost nothing left. My children now have to somehow heal a planet ravaged and plundered and dying. Daily I want to scream. I’m mad with anger but it’s wasted. My bitter iconoclasm has ruined both new and long-standing friendships and has made forging new ones near impossible. My heart’s voice is too loud and, even at forty three, still so unrefined that I dare not speak it.

Where does this leave me, the father, to my son, to my new baby girl? I have two ways out:
1) Accept my pitiful attempt at rebellion and allow my son and baby daughter to see what I really am: angry and spineless. I’m sorry son, I’m sorry my beautiful little daughter. I noticed, but I chose not to do anything.
or
2) Channel my awareness.

The answer is obvious, and it’s what I am provisionally calling Punk Rock. This Punk Rock is everything the original was, but more.

Punk Rock is about stepping outside of our expected behaviours and becoming more than this.  Yet it is more than targeted self-improvement. It’s about freedom and risk. It’s about finding meaning though creativity and colouring outside the lines. It’s about making life more fun.

We are a nasty, nasty people and my hatred for our species is profound. But we also have this tremendous capacity for art, through which we can find redemption, even hope. We also have free will. Combine the two and there’s the real possibility of creating something new.

We also have this tremendous capacity for love. Having children has changed everything for me. Before them my desire for change was in part inspired by my wife. Now it’s my children too. Part of me resists – I’ll change when I damn well feel like it – but mostly I realize that I have no choice, and that my excuses only serve as a security blanket that should have been discarded long ago.

So for me, the way forward is clear, at least philosophically. Instead of angry words, the letters on my banners and placards, written large, will read Big Love and Punk Rock.

Expect a Punk Rock Manifesto in the near future.