Excerpts from my Journals of Emerson
Who is Emerson? He is a bit of an enigma - a part-time poet and full-time drunk. He is not famous or a celebrity, but he's what some might call a ladies' man, although, after a night with him, they often wonder why. Silver tongue devil...
In hindsight, Emerson seemed full of insight, inspiration, and whiskey, but not necessarily in that order. 😉 I wish sometimes I had been smart enough to tell the difference back then...
It's been a while since I've last seen Emerson. I wonder what he has been up to all this time. It's weird to have a friend who has "disappears" for so long and then pops back in like no time has passed. My birthday is tomorrow, and I've been reflecting on it. I wonder if Emerson will show up like he did on my 23rd birthday. Probably not. For all I know, he might have finally shared his last story. I'm turning 55, and I've been thinking about what he told me about 20 years ago.
"Ovan, you need to loosen up a little. I've been around, you know. I've seen some things in my day." We were, of course, at a bar. Before I met the woman who would become my future ex-wife, he turned to me with his blue eyes. "Look, you're human. You're born, you laugh, you cry, you fuck, and then you die. Along the way, sometimes you create another human being. Just remember, don't fuck the next human up." He took a shot of Jameson and wiped his mouth with his hand. "Do you know why I'm telling you this?"
I remember laughing at him and saying, "Well, I think we are both a bit pissed right now..."
"No!" He said and slammed down his glass. "I'm telling you because you think you need someone or something to shield you from all that loneliness. In reality, there is nothing. It's just you." The bartender approached and poured him another shot, which he downed while giving her a wink. He turned his gaze back to me. "You're going to marry or hook up with whoever says yes, just to keep that loneliness at bay." He looked at me intently with his piercing green eyes (though I could have sworn they were blue a moment ago).
"Humans think that their lives matter what their daily to and fro means: anything in 100 years won't matter. You won't matter. Your job, your so-called art, your bills, etc... none of it really matters. Your gods and whims fade over time." Another shot appeared, and my beer seemed to be refilled.
"You won't be remembered, and you'll be forgotten unless you do something clever. And you're not very clever. Take this child you make with this future wife you marry out of desperation."
"Oh, for the luv'of gawd..." I managed to say. "I can safely say I'd marry her because of love. And I'm not having kids."
"Uh-huh. Sure, lie to yourself if that makes you feel better." He emptied his whiskey glass and caught the bartender's eye for another. "Look at you," he said, thanking the server and giving her a wink. "You've been stumbling along, and pretty soon, you'll realize you'll want a stumble buddy. Once that happens, you're going to have a kid."
"So I'm just a lonely, desperate human who will make another human with another sad, lonely human," I said, spinning my glass around in my hand. "Sounds sad when you put it like that."
"It's only sad because that's what you see. You have to stop thinking about what you can't do and concentrate on what you should do. You do realize that most people are shitty parents, don't you, and they spread that shittiness through their kids."
"You will have shaped the world for your child during the first 12 years of their life. You'll have the chance to be one of those parents who isn't shitty. The impact you have on your child will affect the world more than any stupid piece of art you make. With the child, it will be like a ripple in an ocean moving out." With that, he opened his arms wide, demonstrating until he accidentally collided with the woman and her friend beside him.
I remember laughing very hard as he tried to apologize to both women. Whisky and a fruity cocktail cascaded down her top and her girlfriend's. I was still a bit surprised they were smiling as he got both of their numbers. He flashed one of his Cheshire grins and winked, intending to contact them later to cover the damages, which he did. They, of course, shot me a disapproving glare.
My son is turning 21 soon, and I find myself reflecting on what Emerson said so many years ago about being a good parent. There is no manual for being a parent. While there are guides for swaddling and assembling toys, nothing teaches how to raise a human being. I have tried to ensure he feels loved, supported, and wanted, but sometimes that might not be enough. Although he reassures me I'm a good dad. ☺️ Perhaps my insecurities are surfacing. I hope that what I have been able to give him will have a lasting impact and provide him with comfort in the years to come.
I wonder if Emerson plans on showing up soon.
Complied from two entries written in July 1989 and January 2000
Originally written July 13, 2024 - Updated February 28, 2025
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