Does anyone remember the TV movie "The Boy in the Bubble" starring John Travolta? Although it’s based on the tragic story of David Vetter and his rare immune deficiency disease, I am seriously considering the possibility of putting my girls in a giant bubble.
It will be the pimped out version of the old movie bubble: TV monitors that play children’s programing 24/7. State of the art sound system with all the old and new school toddler tunes. I’d hire Jonathan Adler do give it a Disney sensibility.
Naturally, my wife and I can enter the bubble at any time to give them lots of hugs and kisses so I really don’t see the harm in doing this.
Here’s my reasoning. At three years old, their smiles make the sun look dim. Their giggles and voices make Pachelbel Canon in D sound like the screeching brakes of a runaway train. Their eyes shine with innocence, purity and a sense of wonder at every moment of every day. I don’t want that to end.
They have yet to learn the meaning of: cancer, evil, war, genocide, terrorist, pedophile, rape, racism, anti-Semitism or Republican. They don’t know of death or the fact that mommy and daddy won’t be here forever. They haven’t experienced a broken heart, betrayal or loss. They don’t know failure or grief. They don’t comprehend the dangers that are all around. Drowning in a pool, choking on a pit, car accidents, head injury, disease.
I want to protect them from all of that. I want them to stay three years old…stay in a bubble and be happy forever. I want to keep them out of harm’s way and keep the harm in the world away from their consciousness. I want to keep them innocent.
For the past three months, Patch has been gracious enough to publish my weekly humor column. I’ve written each article like I was whistling through a graveyard. Laugh at what I fear. Smile at what I don’t want to think about.
As my final installment, I am not exactly leaving you all laughing (especially the Republicans I upset … it was a joke!) I am telling you who I am. I’m happy to be a 52-year-old father of perfect twin 3-year-old girls.
They are incredibly funny, sweet, bright, imaginative, loving, kind, considerate and adorable beyond description. I’m a 52-year-old father who is petrified of watching the gleam in their eyes fade as they slowly discover the world isn’t perfect and life isn’t easy.
I wish each came with a guarantee for a long, healthy, happy and productive life. But instead, I know I have to be like a coach on the sidelines of the losing team. I have to let them fall and stumble and bleed and cry and feel pain and hurt and just hope that I can help them get back up to play the next game with all they have inside. What they don’t know … is even in defeat … I will love them all the more.
And I wonder why I’m not invited to more parties.
(Editor's Note: This will be Randy Levin's last column. We thank him for his contributions and wish him well.)
