Life chapter: The Godfather Dances

My sister gave birth about a week ago. Well, the title gave it away. I am also the kid’s godfather, something I actually didn’t want. I just wanted to be the fun uncle. The godfather sounds like a lot of responsibility. If anything happens to my sister, I’m first in line to raise him, and right now, single and all, I don’t see myself doing that. So I told my sister bluntly, no, I don’t want to be the godfather. Several months passed. She asked again, and I said yes. Don’t ask me why, because my argument still holds up, but there is also a godmother and other family I can count on if anything happens. I guess my perspective has broadened a bit since she asked initially. Refusing may sound selfish or wrong to some, but being a godfather carries more responsibility than just the name, responsibility that, right now, I am not sure I can handle.

That said, when I know people are counting on me, I know I need to step up and be there, no questions asked. I don’t know how I feel about the kid yet. Right now, it’s a newborn, no fun to be had. No pranks to be played, nothing to be taught. But when he gets older, and I don’t have kids of my own, I would like to go travel with him. My first solo trip was Alaska. I am hoping to give him the travel bug and share some of my travel stories with the kid. I want to support him in whatever he decides to do with his life, and hopefully be a lot wiser by then so I can counsel him and guide the little one.

Shit, it just hit me while writing all this. I want kids of my own. Well fuck, that answers a question I never could answer before. I mean, I thought about it, but I don’t think I was ever ready for it. Maybe I was wrong in the beginning. Maybe I am more ready for responsibility, and this begs the question: is anyone ever ready to raise kids, or do we just step into the role?

Well, let’s change the topic. The first dance lesson was very uncomfortable. I was nervous and looked more at the floor than at my dancing partner. I never made eye contact, and we switched partners every song. I remember all the shoes and none of the faces. I didn’t talk either. I smiled awkwardly when I did make eye contact. Talk about being shy, I bet you could find my picture under the definition of shy in the dictionary.

But toward the end of the class, I started to have fun and be less shy. After the class, I wondered: should I go through with it? The first lesson was a free tryout. I started to doubt and went with: “Fuck it, let’s go!” I paid the teacher, thanked him, and left the class to go home.

While driving on the highway, I was thinking out loud. At a certain point, I started chuckling. I don’t remember the last time I had this feeling, or the last time I said “Fuck it, let’s go!” It felt like some part of me was getting more alive again.

The second class was still awkward, but very fun. It’s funny, this time I focused on the hands I was holding: some warm, others soft, others rough. I still looked down a lot, watched the shoes, tried to make more eye contact.

On the way home, I chuckled again about how awkward and shy I was.

I feel that those dance lessons might help me grow.

Author’s note: I used to think I would automatically become the legal guardian if anything happened to my sister, but that isn’t the case, from what I read today. I guess I took the role a lot more seriously than it actually is.

picture at the wedding of my sister. seemed fitting for this blog.