#thoughtsofthefuture

[thomasbosket]

Planning a murder. Well, we’re bored. #contemporaryabstractart #thoughtsofthefuture (at MASS MoCA) https://www.instagram.com/p/CqRjdYGM93I/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[not-to-be-opened-blog]

A letter to future generations.

I hope I live long enough to know that you’re alive.

My heart aches at the thought of you growing up without me.  I am physically hurting at the sheer thought that this is possible.  That you would grow in a world in which your father is no longer inhabiting.  To have the embrace of your father be a distant memory.  One that pains you to think about, so you bury it in the recesses of your mind until the worms of time slowly cause it to decay, and the thought of me, holding you, is nothing but intellectual worm food.  

That idea fucking sucks.

I am fearful, truly fearful, that you will never know me.  That you won’t know what makes me laugh, and what makes me cry.  I will never be able to teach you how to be a man, or what a man is.  To be religated to a name on a family tree.  Humans are fragile little beings.  Honestly we can be kinda shitty, and the world is kinda shitty.  We can’t choose our path, though we have free will, there are still events that will happen that we can never control!  I am sitting at the precipice of my life.

I am not young.  

I am not old.

I have yet to live my life, but still have lived so much of it.  Many people don’t even make it to my age.  People I graduated with have already passed away, and I have yet to even reach my 10 reunion.  I am very, very, fearful that you will live without me.  That you might never exist.  That the words on these pages have fallen on the ears of a being that never had the chance of being.

But… I will have faith. I will have faith that you do exist, and that I do hold you.  That you know that I love you and that since my mid-twenties I knew that I wanted to be your dad.  That I wanted to be the man in your life that will love you regardless of the person that you are (unless you’re a Nazi, fuck Nazis).

Whether you like men or women, whether you fall for a black person, or white.  Know that I love you.  That you are a beautiful creation.  That you are lovely.  That you were not a mistake.  

Surprises are NOT mistakes.

I hope to see you on your 45th birthday.

And your 50th.

And your 60th.

Maybe even your 70th.

I hope to meet my grandkids. To tell them stories about how you used to be… and to live long enough to tell them that they are becoming their parents.  I don’t know you yet.  I really don’t.  I’m 27 and you do not exist yet.  But I can’t wait to meet you.  To hold your little hands and kiss them.  To hold you close to me as you sleep.  To hear you cry.  To hear you laugh.  And most importantly, to hear you call my name.

To hear you say “Dad.”

-M. Zepeda