The O-town Scene

January 13, 2011

The O-town Scene - Oneonta, NY

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A Single Dad Raul O’Toole is a single dad raising a young son in the Oneonta area. E-mails may be sent to him via editor@otownscene. com, and letters sent to The Daily Star, c/o Cassandra Miller at P.O. Box 250, Oneonta, NY 13820, will be given to O’Toole. A Love Letter My Son, In a few days, I will turn 30-something years of age. This, combined with nearly two weeks spent in my bed nursing hellacious sinus infection after gnarly head cold has left your dear old dad in a contemplative mood. That established, I hope you’re reading this long after you’ve overcome the inevitable embarrass- ment of schmaltz so prevalent in the teen years. Because son, I love you more than words can say. In your not quite five years on this planet, you’ve taught me more than decades of tepid study. When you pause, half-naked in the midst of morning dressing to look up at my face, to grin your tiny-toothed smile and say “biiiiig hug time!” I live, for real, in that incredible moment. No undergrad texts on Buddhist philosophy could help me learn that lesson, no matter how smoky the room. “No undergrad texts on Buddhist philosophy could help me learn that lesson” When you shift and squirm, crawling along the aisle during some intractably boring ceremony, I shush you not out of propriety, but jealousy. When you create entire worlds from a few scraps of molded plastic, I know the innate creativity that led humans from the cave to the moon still lives in your heart. I am sorry that soon it will be pushed aside for arithmetic; more sorry than I can say. The generosity of your spirit cannot be overstated. We live in a John Stossel world, and yet when you hold my hand there is no stranger with whom you will not share a story and a smile. Being your father makes me brave — you inspire me to work for a stronger community and a better world. Without you there to remind me, I’d look away while our water was poisoned in some quest for gas; I’d whistle while our streets and schools crumbled to dust; I’d continue to treat my own body like a prison toilet, instead of something deserving of your admiration and trust. I’ve watched lately as my friends and acquaintances conceive and eventually produce children with whom you may someday play. I resist the urge to try to explain to them how their souls — not just their waking lives — will be indel- ibly altered. How to put into words what it truly means? And yet here I am, attempting to explain it to you. I cannot. I have made my life bending words to my will, yet the English language can only encompass so much. I hope you can see my love for you in my eyes. I hope it comes through in all that I do. I hope you cannot help but be embraced by the truth of what you have meant to me, and the sustenance you will continue to provide my soul. I wish every parent — every person — were as lucky as I. What a world this would be if we could all rise each morning to your welcoming smile. 14 O-Town Scene Jan. 13, 2011

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