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03 June 2007 @ 10:53 pm
Theatrical Muse: Week 181: Question 181  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 976

Describe your perfect day.

Perfect days are lovely, glorious things when we throw aside the notion of no utopia, nothing being, ever, truly perfect, and just enjoy those wonderful moments for what they are. We assume perfection in perfect days, because, in our own standards, they are indeed perfect. Tripping over and spilling the rest of a shared ice-cream on the pavement is of no concern, because the ice-cream was shared in the first place, the memory was there, and sometimes, mostly, really, in those moments it is what the memory stands for that matters. The ice-cream was bought to be shared, it was shared, the intentions and results were good, even if, really, the rest of it, in the end, was spilled upon hard concrete ground.

For some people, they expect everything to live up to their ideals of perfection. A good library will not have a book out of place, and then, in focussing so completely upon that, they will, proceed to miss the point of enjoying books entirely. Something so often is wrong, or goes wrong for these people, that those who are close to them, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, can see it, will notice it, and if it is bad enough, they may even actively try to be different, to change their very own look on life. Perfection, assumed or that which is trying to be obtained, has very drastic ramifications on both personal levels, and otherwise.

Perfect days, beneficial days, good days, do not even have to start out well, they simply have to have some event, occurrence, some action of some person or thing within them, that suddenly transforms them into enjoyable and memorable. Perfection does not need to be achieved in every hour and every moment of a perfect day, but at the very least you need to look back at it afterwards and know that at some point of time, in some collection of moments, there was something that now makes you think of that day as an ideal one.

There is a day that I remember, one of those ones that sticks in my memory, one that I spent with my wife and my children. It was early on, when both Michael and Christopher fit in a pram, so Mike must have been only a few months old, and Chris, well, four or so, perhaps a late three years. It was one of those warmer days where it was boring to sit inside, but thankfully, not hot enough to habitually camp inside to avoid the heat. Marianne and I made lunch, shared it around, and when the kids were getting restless afterwards, we packed up some bags, took out the prams and buckled them in safely. We made sure they had good clothing on; made sure they both had a hat, and were sitting in enough shade. Being that they weren’t walking, and we were alright in fitness, we decided to take a walk to Central Park, as opposed to well, driving, which in NYC can sometimes be a bothersome affair.

There is something very beneficial and interesting about parenthood. Children, young children especially, irrelevant of personality or development milestones, really do love new things. They like to point, and ask questions and test out the new skills and words they have learnt over time, even if they can’t place them in the right situation yet, or perform them at a decibel that isn’t screaming joviality. Michael couldn’t speak, but Chris was well on his way, and so we were having the kind of basic conversations, naming things, him repeating, childish questions, all so very endearing and interesting.

Together, we spent the afternoon at the park. We shared ice cream, we walked under tall, shady trees, basking in a different kind of shade than that achieved inside or under a shade cloth. Some people may not consider occasional crying and nappy changing conducive to a perfect day, but there was something in the air, we felt grateful for having the chance to be together, to enjoy the fine weather. Marianne and I were happy, because we had been afraid that we had left parenthood too late, and, having two children, after all the decades we had spent together, that was a lovely thing. While I skim over some of the details, it was a perfect day. I held my baby, showed him the grass, picked up different leaves and fluttered them in front of his face. I threw a ball with my oldest son and watched him gallop after it with those shrill delighted shrieks that seem decibel threatening.

With those three people gone from my life, I hold the days I spent with them, in the highest reverence. Marriage, my marriage, I am thankful that it was better than some, but also thankful that we did argue sometimes, did have our own, individual troubles, because it kept us well grounded. I am eternally grateful that I got a chance to have children, and sorely disappointed that they, along with their mother, were taken away from me too soon. People can argue on perfection all they can argue all they want on how, without a utopia, we can never have perfection in itself, but I will always tell them that they focus too much on theory and not enough on life itself. That day I had with my family, yes, it may have been hot, and we may have had tired feet when we got home, but it was a day that I spent with Marianne, with Michael and Christopher, my family, my wife, my sons. There was nothing more perfect than something like that, and without them, now, I am left to create different kinds of memorable days, which, to be honest, live up to those other days, in their own way, but will never really be like them, ever.
Current Mood: contemplativecontemplative
Current Music: Samson - Regina Spektor