Anthony David Jacques

My daughter is fifteen months old today. Old enough to run around and climb stairs, to bounce on the bed. She knows a good many words, and she fills in the gaps with nonsense, but we know what she means about half the time.

She’s too young to understand complex emotions, abstract ideas or form permanent memories. I mean, I’ve never met anyone who remembers things like teething, or their first birthday party. She’s too young to remember the Challenger explosion or the Black Friday where people got trampled to death at a Wal Mart.

But at some point she’ll have things in her mind that she’ll remember for the rest of her life. There will be a lot of firsts for her, and she’ll begin to remember people, like her mother and I. And then she’s going to lose me. It’s not like I have an expiration date stamped on the bottom of my foot, but it’s close enough.

Is it irresponsible to know that, to see it coming, and to let it happen anyway?

Without me in the equation, her chances of growing up with a father figure who loves her are unknowable. Left up to chance. However, with me in the picture, her chances of growing up with the memory of the loss of her father are known. Expected.

It’s just weighing on me. It seems cruel to put her through that.

I want to make this thing right, but I can’t. And I want to do the right thing, but when I consider the greater good, it’s not black and white anymore. It isn’t clear cut, choose option A, B or C and know the outcome.

I think I liked life better when I was a kid.  Back when there were good guys and bad guys, and you could discern between them by their outfits. Stealing was wrong, lying was wrong, do unto others, etc… But now we have situational ethics to consider. It’s okay to lie if you save someone’s life, to steal if you’re starving.

And right here and now, this moment, this is already the future for me. This was supposed to be better. Jet packs and flying cars and food in pill form. That’s what I was expecting. Everything should hover, everything should be instant. Everything should be good.

We could feed the world if less than 1% of the world’s wealthiest people and rulers decided to chip in a tiny fraction of their fortunes, but they won’t. We should be able to count on people, individuals, to do the right thing. We should be able to stop killing each other over ancient books and the color of our skin.

We should have a cure for cancer.

But now, in my childhood’s future, everyone is addicted to prescription drugs or technology or plastic surgery. Things are getting worse, and it’s harder and harder to know the difference between right and wrong. And even when you think you know, then someone will tell you it’s all a matter of perspective and throw doubt into your equations.

And then there’s God. He’s supposed to have created this whole mess. Started out perfect, or so we’re told, some amazing garden in the east, but wouldn’t he have seen all this coming? He’s God. All seeing, all knowing. Wouldn’t he have decided this whole humanity thing was a bad idea? How could this possibly end well? He could have easily not planted the tree, not made the rule about the forbidden fruit. Why even make something if it’s forbidden? Doesn’t make any sense.

We toss around expressions like ‘God only knows’ all the time, but it suddenly has more gravity with me.

So this is the weight I feel right now. God only knows the right thing to do, and he seems to be away on business.

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© Anthony David Jacques MMX