Zeus - "Are You Gonna Waste My Time?"

Good Father Day. Edmund wakes up in May's arms, his head against her single breast, and his feet coldly dangled off the edge of the bed. They seem to have slept in smiles, the way you can fall asleep with makeup on, their faces sore from the constant easy strain of it. His phone is ringing.

Frank is crying.

"Garret Ng said he's gonna chase me off a cliff." As Edmund makes one-handed toast with almond butter, in May's pristine granite kitchen, he calms Frank down and wonders to himself shouldn't he be in class? is he hiding in the bathroom? "He said he's gonna make me swallow his farts." The bright morning traffic looks cold from the window of May's 8th floor glass, but today will be hot come the afternoon. "Frank, a bully is a weak person, if you can muster the courage, remind him that he doesn't actually control you," May's hand on his back, "You control you." He loves her short blond hair. She loves his height, standing naturally, lips at her forehead.

Off to see Evelyn run cross-country.

The classic rock blares at the track, teachers in white shorts and sunglasses, everyone's leisure like a window to their true selves. They've dressed the way they dress when they don't have authority, and thus risk never getting it back. The heats are listed on a large piece of dollar-store bristol board, and Evelyn is third. She looks up at him from the track, her long ponytail a hazard in this sport, but a striking unique quality amongst the runners. In the distance, there is Trey, her ex, the one that's caused her so much pain. She sips from her water bottle and doesn't seem to mind. Though there comes a time when your children become curators of their own feelings, they don't just show you everything anymore, they're not the crumbled humble emotional messes they used to be. Evelyn wins her heat. She has the ambition gene, from Edmund. A quiet, competitive streak. With that body, that wit, and that streak, she will go very very far.

Tate at daycare draws a picture.

He and Jen call it "Tatecare", because the ECEs are always talking about some breakthrough that Tate has shown, they seem to be calling him out as a genius now so they can take credit down the line. Today, Edmund arrives and Tate has drawn a picture: a "road to nowhere" he calls it. They mention the presence of a vanishing point, the representational quality of something as simple as a road, and the detail of a traffic line down the middle, all point to seriously advanced intelligence. Edmund thinks about some stock interview footage, of Timothy Leary or some such thinker, talking about the way school is designed to find the best soldiers; the literal, rule-following, button pushers. He pats Tate lovingly on the head as he finishes his chick pea salad.

Edmund drives home in the sunshine, he's forgotten his sunglasses so he squints and feels those sore smiling muscles. 41 years ago, he was just being born, in the kingdom of Carole King, Joan Baez, and Three Dog Night. In this moment, not too much has changed.

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This Sunday, April 22nd in Toronto, there is going to be a delightful show at the Garrison. Featuring gramofriends Henri Fabergé and The Bawdy Electric. Go go.