When i was a child, and saw a vhs of The Godfather on a shelf in Our Price one day, i looked into Brando's face and saw visions of red demonic eyes and hell flames and mad cackling laughter. My six year old's logic could only compute that 18 meant the film was so scary only people over 18 could handle it.
Watching Michael fumble around behind a cistern for a concealed weapon or seeing Sonny get nailed by 200 bullets at a toll booth is some edge of your seat shit, but i wouldn't say it's scary. And yet in that funny full-circular habit life has, for me at least, the two words Godfather and Scary have become synonymous once again.
And it's down to this little guy.
You know that adorable bond between any new parent and their child? On behalf of the rest of us who are still normal, a clever soul once wrote: 'showing people photos of your baby is not asking for their honest opinion'. Get that man another five of whatever he's drinking. However much enthusiasm a parent shows for their newborn sprog, it's not your kid, and it's impossible for you to get even vaguely as excited. New parents need to know this.
Oh look, your kid seems to have crawled half way across a floor. And wait, you happened to film the event on your phone. So now you've interrupted my Nas anecdote, and are making me watch this video in the middle of a crowded pub. That's not the only video you've made is it? Didn't think so.
Where do you stand on all this BA?
But when two sturdy souls take a leap of faith, scratch that, brave an act of raw uncut lunacy, and ask you to be the Godparent to their child, everything i've said above goes the hell out of the window.
Which is where all that crap about the Godfather Part 1 being a scary film comes from. Being asked to be a Godparent to a child by people you love is scary as hell. In the same way that a marriage proposal or any momentous decision founded upon love and trust must be. It's a huuuuge responsibility, of the best possible kind. We're talking about somebody's life.
It's early days, i've only known him for three hours, but already they could show me fifteen rubbish videos of this little guy crawl across the floor and i'd ask for fifteen more. I'd even go up to the bar and tell them to turn the music down. Maybe not fifteen. Anyway that's never going to happen because unlike some parents these ones are way too cool to film anyone crawling across a floor, let alone oblige people to watch it.
I'd say the first meeting went quite well. He didn't piss or poop or puke on me, and i held him up really high for like three seconds before he started crying.
AND i found this in Nike Town! Oh gawsh. Full-on Air Jordan baby outfit, with Jordan booties and a hat.
Just as i started unpacking it his mother shot me a look which didn't take an expert to infer meant something along the lines of... he's asleep, if you knew how little of that i've had in the last eight weeks, you really wouldn't be asking me to jeopardise this golden moment of peace and fucking quiet just to try on your moronic basketball top.
Mothers. Don't fuck with them.
So we settled for the much less interesting, afternoon-ruining, grown man sulk-inducing 'money shot'.
Here's MJ doing sick shit to make everyone feel happier.
Anyway.
To you, little buddy, i'll say this. I won't lie. It's going to be a long, winding, pot-holed road.
But for however long i'm around, i'll be on highway maintenance for you every single day.
- notice how even from a distance of 8 cm, he's still managing to look right past me -
No comments:
Post a Comment