Friday, November 16, 2012

[Songs My Son Should Know] Gorillaz | On Melancholy Hill

Parenting makes one protective and testy.  The wilds of the world are not at all for small children, and the continuous sniper hunt for things that will attempt to fuck him up is both endless and exhausting.

But having lived an entire year with my son, watching him sprout from a helpless sheath of flesh into a flourishing, albeit, incessant boy has made me realize that he is the most resilient creature I've ever been in close contact with.  And why wouldn't he be?  The absolute improbability of making a living person from a poppy seed into a thriving system of cells, axons, and systems should tell me all I need to know about how humans have an indelible will to thrive.  A small boy whose actions create both humor and concern in his parents with equal measure indicate that it is us who need to be protected.  Exaggerated myths and urban legends were created to scare and preserve the young, but all they actually do is end up frightening the adults.

The absolute delight of watching your child grow is matched in emotion with the dread of his imminent self-realization.  He'll cry because he is forlorn, he'll fidget because he is embarrassed, he'll question morality.  But, as a father, protecting him from those emotions -- against all of my conscientious instincts -- would be denying him from establishing his character.

Yes, it is the guardians who need to be protected.

It reminds of the first verse of Gorillaz Melancholy Hill, which begins with the sort of pace and prose that would suggest an inquiry to a beneficiary from his isolated keeper; sequestered to an imperceptible perch but by faith and conduct.

Up on melancholy hill
There's a plastic tree
Are you here with me?
Just looking out on the day
Of another dream

Which will eventually be my role as a father: imperceptible but nearby, faithful in his autonomy but advocative, willing to observe his struggle but alleviating of his burden.  Just looking out on the day of his dream.

Well you can't get what you want
But you can get me
So let's set up and see
'Cause you are my medicine
When you're close to me
When you're close to me

I am not his medicine.  His father.  I am not his medicine.  But invisible is my perception of impossibility because he is my antidote against mental complacency.  He is my medicine when he's close to me.  


So call in the submarine
'Round the world we'll go
Does anybody know
If we're looking out on the day
Of another dream?

So fuck it, let's quell our fears, let's dream.  Let's conquer things together.  Progress from children's deeds to deeds that children kind-of do, to listening to Otis Redding in a small bar in Bruges toasting our nearly-mutual birthdays with a gueze.  Lovingly heckling mom's record collection for being schmalzy and lame.  Whatever it is that sons and dads do without diminishing that boundary between friends and paternal bonding.

If you can't get what you want
Then you come with me

Up on melancholy hill

Sits a manatee
Just looking out on the day
When you're close to me
When you're close to me

When you're close to me 

Until then, I'll be the living juxtaposition of guarding him closely from a distance.  As inconspicuous as a manatee.  On a hill.  Looking out on the day.

Happy first birthday, son.

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