Right . . . so we went to my daugther's curriculum night, which is an evening devoted to a teacher explaining exactly how they will teach your child. All very interesting, to an extent. Sure, I'm very concerned about my child's education. Well I should be. I want her to learn as much as possible. But excrutiating detail was a little much for me. "At 8:19.9384758392848684 we begin self-directed reading. This exists for exactly one nanosecond in the space time continum before we move on to self-directed beatings. Humiliation of the child does not begin unilt 2 pm."

Seriously, our teacher seems to be fantastic. Very sweet young woman who has been teaching first grade for four years. In some countries that would mean her tour of duty would be over. She could go home now. Discharged. Soldiers in Macedonia have it easy compared to her. Yet, she seems to take it with an easy grace. But I wonder . . . is this how she is at home? Is she this agreeable all the time? Even keeled? I'm not sure I can wait in line for the drinking fountain without getting agitated, yet she handles 30 six-year-olds and their parents all day long. I envy her, in one sense. You know, shaping of young minds. But still, how does she treat her boyfriend? "Now Kevin, was going out with your friends and getting shit-faced really the best idea? Why don't you sit at your desk and think about it for a while." Come to think of it, how could any man date a teacher? Every act of affection would seem like a public debasement of a revered figure.

I'm sure I had a point at one time. But I don't think I do anymore. Right now the daugther is crying because grandma is going home for the evening. Somehow this moment always comes as a surpise. I'm not sure why. Though I have no doubt that I was the same way as a child. Still, does she not realize that the evening must come to an end at some point? What is a child's concept of time? As an adult, I don't have the same perspective anymore. I dread each morning and welcome each afternoon. I also realize that, at some point, I will be dead. Children don't see this. They can only see the moment and the unending future. Ah, to be a child again.

Rather, I live with the normal fears of an adult. Or maybe they are abnormal. I fear failure, death, pain, uncomfort, tupperware, invisible assasins and poverty. Still, there's a creeping fear every day that I may not have enough time with my family. That I'll miss out on the most important moments of their lives. There's that crushing fear at three a.m. that they'll be taken from me and I won't know what to do. Or, that I'll die suddenly and they'll have to live without me.

Of course, I'll be dead. What will I care? Maybe I'll have some sort of super powers then. I hope so. Otherwise being dead would really suck.