Personal Letter
You’ve really been a help, and you’re not even here yet.
[Letter #019]
Good morning, son.
Today, there is a solar eclipse. Here in so-called North Carolina, the land on which our house sits is actually Sissipahaw territory, we are getting roughly 85% coverage. So, it won’t turn into full-on night time, but it should get a little darker. We’ll see. Even 15% of the sun is a lot of sunlight. The next really big one over the Carolinas should be in 2078 (May 11). I’m not sure that I’ll live long enough to see that one, as I would be 94, but I suppose it’s possible. You’d be in your 50s, so maybe you’ll see it.
This week, I’m not really thinking about much. I had really intended to continue going down my list of deep topics, and this week would have been about the goddess Propaganda, but… Well, two reasons. First, I just don’t feel like I have it in me to write about that topic yet. I have a book on the subject now, but it’s a real slog. I’m thinking that I might try the old Bernays book instead. May as well get it from the source, right? The book that I’ve been going through is an audiobook, but even so, I’m still having a tough time just listening to it. A smarts-wizard, I ain’t. Putting a concept like “propaganda” into words is tough. Maybe next week.
Second, I just don’t feel much like writing heavy stuff this week anyway. It takes a lot out of me to write things like that, and I really need a lot of frustration built up in order to funnel it into a long-form essay. Like I said before, I had put together this long list of things that I was concerned about and, this week, I’m just not all that concerned.
I guess it might seem a little strange that I write these long-ass letters to my yet-to-be-born son that he can read in roughly 16–17 years or so, and yet these letters focus on capitalism, modern gods, collapse of civilization and other stuff like that. You’d think that if I was going to write you a letter, a form of communication that is inherently one of the more intimate available to humans, that I’d give you more personal thoughts or details about my day-to-day. I do try to give a small bit of detail at the beginning of each letter, but I just feel like these things are largely of little consequence. The world and its problems feel so big, and my daily goings-on seem so insignificant by comparison. I feel like I should talk about what matters.
These letter topics that I’ve been writing actually have been the things that have occupied my mind for a few years though. Once I learned about them, it was impossible not to consider how it would change my life. Somewhere in there, your mother posed the question of having a baby, and my mind immediately revolted. How could I bring a baby into this world? The curtain is closing, the credits are rolling, the lights are fading to black. How could I justify bringing someone new into this? The show is over! But, as you know by now, I just can’t believe that the show is over. It’s just moving on to a new chapter that my generation and those before me never thought was possible.
You know what the hardest part about thinking about this mess is for me? Having no one to talk about it with. Your mother helps out a little, true, and I do have a therapist who listens to me talk about it all, but I don’t really have friends available for such things. Even if I did, many of them would respond to these topics rather poorly. This stuff is depressing as hell. No one wants to think about how the system is failing or how they’re stuck in a cycle of work-sleep-work-sleep until death. When everything you’ve ever known, everything you’ve ever considered to be safe and permanent, suddenly shifts and someone claims that these things will end — and not just end, but end forever — it’s too much for folks to take in. Their minds will perform every trick in the book to either avoid the conversation entirely or, if that fails, try to “make the best of it,” by which they mean just denying that such an outcome is possible. “They’ll think of something.”
In truth, these letters have been for me. Of course, I’m directing them at you, and I hope that you get something out of them, but I’ve been putting them together for myself. I have no idea if you’ll even ever read the damn things or find any purpose in them, other than clear evidence that your father was a stressed worrier over all manner of things he had no agency to change. I have done my best to learn and practice acceptance. These letters have been instrumental in my doing just that. Writing it out, putting in the effort to organize these jumbled thoughts into something coherent, has been really effective for me to simply come to accept that the world is changing. Sure, it’s scary. Sure, I’m nervous about surviving what’s coming. And yes, I’m very concerned about you. But, you know what? There’s fuck-all I can really do about it. I’ll just try my best to navigate it and keep you safe.
Writing this stuff out has helped me realize worrying about things, just as much as raging about them, does practically nothing. Well, I’m sure it does terrible things for my health, but otherwise nothing good. So, even if you never read these letters, I hope that maybe you’ll someday learn just what you did for me. You didn’t have to do anything at all, really. You haven’t even existed beyond just a few sonogram images and thumps within your mother’s abdomen, and yet, you’ve helped me to calm things down in my mind. Son, even as an idea, you’ve been very helpful to me. I can’t thank you enough for that.
I actually think that I’m probably healthier in my mind now than I’ve been in at least several years. Probably longer than that. I could thank more regular trips to my therapist, I suppose, but I think it’s less of that than it is just being about to think things through here for you. Not to say that my therapist isn’t helpful. He is, absolutely, but I just think that getting my thoughts in order has been even more so.
I’m trying to sell my truck right now. I wouldn’t sell it at all normally, but I can’t use a child seat in it, and you’re probably aware by now who’s going to need a child seat in a couple of months. So, I need to get something else that’ll take such a seat. We still have your mother’s old car as well, but I’m starting to think that it might just end up getting traded to the dealership for the minimum credit toward my next truck. I really don’t know yet. I’d just like to get these vehicles out of here and get everything settled. Seems like there’s always something up in the air.
We’re supposed to have another sonogram at the appointment on Friday. Really looking forward to that, as I’ll get to see you again. You’ve been far more active lately, at least, according to your mother’s reports. She says you’ve been kicking about a little every day. Still not to the point that it’s every hour or so yet, but I think that’s normal. She’s been having me order the various baby books recently, and maybe a few of them are actually useful. Who knows?
At any rate, I’m going to leave it here for now. I think I’ll probably have it figured out next week about how I want to continue. I’m thinking it’ll be about Propaganda, but that’s not a definitely-for-sure-definite thing. As far as I know right now, I still have to talk about Hierarchy, Propaganda, Nation, Productivity, and maybe one other. We’ll figure it out somehow.
I love you very much, son.
Your father,
Papa Bear
[Author’s note: This is a series of letters that I intend to print to paper and deliver to my son, probably around the year 2040. You are more than welcome to read along. The links in the article are only for you, the reader, and will include citations, jokes, asides, and links to books or other items. If you happen to purchase anything through such a link, I’ll get a small commission. Every little bit helps, right?]
