Let There Be Bacon

It’s been a week of firsts.

Granted, life with a 3-year-old is not lacking in firsts, but this week has been special. Bacon-special.

Little man’s led a very healthy life food-wise. This is the one item that comes close to rent on the budget, the 2n’d biggest expence. Food’s important, every bit of his adorable self is built from what little food avoided the rest of his face to make it into his mouth. So organic everything, fresh fruit (and occasional hard-won vegetables) no sugary stuff, no fatty stuff – we have no illusions this will last, but for now we only hope to save him from our own curse.

But the avalanche has begun. Mama said let there be bacon. And there was. And it was good.

But yeah. First bacon was a hit. I mean, it’s no cantaloupe, but it definitely went over a winner.

Also, had our first tilapia. I think. We may have tried unsuccessfully before, but bacon opened up whole new realms of delicious possibility.

We also watched out first full-length movie. My Neighbor Totoro, if you’re interested, will please everybody in the room.

We also, coincidentally, had our first fight over not watching My Neighbor Totoro outside of designated, established viewing times.

Truly, cinema unites and divides us.

I would consider myself a happy guy. A happy, ruggedly handsome guy. Everybody’s got regrets, but I’ve brought all the scrutiny a liberal arts education, general insecurity and a dash of white guilt can bring to a life lived, and I find the results satisfactory.

But first bacon.

First movie.

How great is that? I’m not one of those bacon fanatics, but I’ve been known to enjoy some cured pork belly in my time. And I heartily support bacon & chocolate, bacon & avocado, bacon & breathing. But to taste that for the first time. Nothing tastes like bacon. Cnan you imagine what that would be to experience that onslaught of tasty?

Then think about what else he has yet to experience. Like bacon…wait, we covered that.

He hasn’t heard a song that told his story, hasn’t read a book that changed the way he saw the world.

He hasn’t fallen in love, he hasn’t heard the family stories you can only hear when you’re drinking with your uncles after a funeral.

He hasn’t yet been able to appreciate how groundbreaking Firefly was, or how Star Trek: Into Darkness wasn’t. He hasn’t yet tasted the sweet irony that the guy who said “I ain’t got time to bleed” was once governor of the great state of Minnesota.

I try to make a practice of appreciate what I have, of being satisfied with my life.

But damned if first bacon doesn’t make me jealous of my son. Just a little.

And then he pees all over his play doh, and the spell is broken.

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