Where We Going, Daddy__ Life With Two Sons Unlike Any Other - Jean-Louis Fournier [11]
I would have liked trying out stereo systems with them and buying one for them. Acting as their first deejay, buying them their first album …
I would have liked listening to music with them, discussing its strengths and weaknesses, comparing different interpretations, and deciding on the best …
Setting them aquiver with Benedetti, Gould, and Arrau on the piano, and Menuhin, Oïstrakh, and Milstein on the violin.
And giving them a glimpse of paradise.
It’s autumn. I’m driving through the forest at Compiègne in my Bentley with Thomas and Mathieu in the back. The countryside is unspeakably beautiful. The whole forest is ablaze with color, glorious as a Watteau. I can’t even say “Look how gorgeous it is!” to them, Thomas and Mathieu aren’t looking at the scenery, they couldn’t give a damn about it. We’ll never be able to admire anything together.
They will never know Watteau, will never go to a museum. Those great joys that help human beings live … they’ll be deprived of them too.
But they do still have French fries. They love fries, especially Thomas, who calls them “Fench fies.”
When I’m alone in the car with Thomas and Mathieu I sometimes have weird ideas. I could buy a couple of bottles—one of camping gas and one of whiskey—and drain them both.
I think that if I had a serious car crash things might be better. Particularly for my wife. I’m more and more impossible to live with, and the boys are getting more and more difficult as they get older. So I accelerate and close my eyes, keeping them closed as long as I can.
I’ll never forget the incredible doctor who saw us when my wife was pregnant for the third time. Abortion was discussed but he said, “I’m going to speak bluntly. You’re in a hell of a situation. You already have two handicapped children. If you had one more, would things really change much? But imagine having a normal child this time. Everything would change. You wouldn’t be finishing on a bad note, it could be the chance of a lifetime.”
Our chance was called Marie; she was normal and very pretty. And why not, we already had two trial runs. The doctors, who knew about her predecessors, were reassured.
Two days after the birth, a pediatrician came to see our daughter. He examined her foot at length, then, out loud, said, “Looks like a club foot …” and a moment later added, “No, I’m wrong.”
I’m sure he meant it as a joke.
My daughter grew and became our pride and joy. She’s beautiful, she’s intelligent. Sweet revenge on our fate, until the day—
No, that’s enough messing around, she’s another story.
The mother of my children, whom I pushed to the limit, eventually had enough: she left me. She went to laugh somewhere else. Serves me right. I deserved it.
I end up on my own, adrift.
I’d love to start over again, young and handsome.
I can just see my lonely hearts ad:
“40-year-old teenager, 3 kids (2 handicapped), seeks cultured, pretty, young woman with a sense of humor.”
She’s going to need a lot of that, specially the dark kind.
I’ve met a few cute but rather dumb girls. I was careful not to mention my children, otherwise they’d have run.
I remember a blonde who knew I had children but not what state they were in. I can still hear her saying, “When are you going to introduce me to your children, it’s like you don’t want to, are you ashamed of me?”
Some of the teachers at Mathieu and Thomas’s special school are young women; there’s one tall brunette in particular who’s very pretty. That would obviously be ideal, she knows my kids and has the instruction manual.
In the end, it didn’t work out. She must have thought, “I can