upfromdysfunction.com

          “Five hundred twenty-five thousand
         Six hundred minutes
         Five hundred twenty-five thousand
         Moments so clear….

         Five hundred twenty-five thousand
         Six hundred minutes
         How do you measure, measure a year?”

Can it be a year since the wedding? THAT long since the baby we’d passed around at gin games and first house-trained with a miniature collie said “I do?” Twelve months already?

         “In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights
         In cups of coffee
         In inches, in miles, in laughter in strife
         In five hundred twenty-five thousand
         Six hundred minutes
         How do you measure a year in a life?”

I picture the first meeting with Jason. It was a weekend sojourn—H, Caroline and me…The Windy City. They’d been “going” for a while and Stacy’d talked him up a lot; clearly she liked him. ‘Til that trip, though, I paid little attention. Oh, I listened—don’t get me wrong; it’s just that I’m a concept person—not a detail man. She said he was nice to her, was old-fashioned and liked Seinfeld. What more need a father hear? Do I really care where he went to high school?

         “Five hundred twenty-five thousand
         Six hundred minutes
         Five hundred twenty-five thousand
         Journeys to plan.”

We broke ice breaking bread. Rooney, knowing everyone, dominated. As the young talked Chicago, Hal set a pick freeing me up. I was a quarterback looking off his primary receiver. Appearances aside, Jason was at all times on a closed/circuit feed. This was The Baby we were talking about—had to be sure!

It was a long day—one I’d never plan. They made us tour the city—on a boat, of all things! Still, the guy was “meat and potatoes,” oozing quiet confidence. He liked baseball, revered his home town, and although no one used the word that day, I could see he loved both the Cubs and Stacy. (I just wasn’t sure the order).

“Do you like him?” she asked, walking briskly aside me. (We spoke freely—he was twelve steps ahead).
“What I think doesn’t matter—It’s what you think.”
“Dad–”
“Why doesn’t he walk with us?” I wondered aloud.

By then Stacy got it: I liked him. Fact is, I liked him, but I loved them. That day, just as the day they wed, it seemed right. Then, as now, it wasn’t so much that they matched as that they fit.

         “Five hundred twenty-five thousand
         Six hundred minutes
         How do you measure the life
         Of a woman or a man.”

It’s old news: Dad taught me to read a hand. By day’s end I’d caught up with Jason (at a red light). Got him one-on-one.

“Listen, “ I said somewhat hushed, “Let me save you a trip to Cleveland. If you ever want her hand in marriage you have my blessing.” (Looking back, it was a pretty ballsy move on my part).

It mattered not. Can’t recall his response, or if he gave one. The light had changed and he was off again…twelve steps ahead.

         “How about love….Measure in love…..”

                                                                      Jonathan Larson

This entry was posted on Monday, September 13th, 2010 at 2:08 pm and is filed under Up From Dysfunction. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.