"I really do have love to give; I just don't know where to put it."

by Amy Turn Sharp


Finn freaks me out. So I know a lot of children find pleasure in creating small shrines of junk in their rooms. I know collecting is king and all, but yesterday I was mortified to discover that Finn is collecting the "belly button" fluff of his father in a small vessel on his dresser.
Finn and Joe hang out for man's hour in the bathroom each night. They smoke pipes and chat. No, seriously- Joe draws a hot bath and relaxes and Finnian sits on this old wooden stool and they talk. It is sweet really. I can hear the mumbled slices of their communication in the kitchen downstairs as I tidy up dinner. I always hear laughter. When I want to be nosy I linger near the staircase and hear the barrage of questions Finn poses. When will my voice be deep? What is plastic? What is this door knob made out of? What is electricity? When will Blaise be big? Can old granny take her teeth out? and so on. I hear Joe so patient in the tub, he deserves an award. He is soaking his body that hurts from physical work but he won't zone out and fully relax- he will always stay above the surface- right there for Finn.
So back to the gross. Joe has told Finn the belly button fluff (as he calls it) is powerful. Finn has fallen right in. So each night if Joe has any belly button lint he will give it to Finn. There is no hope. Second generation odd is here.

title post- Magnolia 1999