Four and a half billion years ago, the early earth, known as Gaia, and a smaller planetary object known as Theia, collided. This collision destroyed the surface of early Earth, and the debris resulting from the collision coalesced to form our Moon. The Earth took a while to recover, but today, the Earth and Moon coexist peacefully, without fear of collision.
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Five years ago, I collided with my own, personal Theia in the gymnasium of a defunct Catholic high school. It was the third Saturday of November, or in other words, “weight certification day” for Brooklyn Tech Wrestling.
I entered the gym with a few teammates who rode the train with me to the defunct Catholic high school. Shortly after, I took off my shirt and pants, and stood in
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I arrive at the front entrance of the school, and let the security guard know that I’m picking my son up. A few minutes later, Christopher comes out of a nearby staircase, and charges towards me for a hug. He looks up, and whispers “Hi, Dad.” We walk out of the building, I unlock the car, and he hops in the back seat. He tries to talk to me for a while, but it’s clear that he’s tired. I turn on his favorite radio station, and turn the volume above the point where it is no longer ambient noise. He sings along for a while, and then shuts his eyes. Fifteen minutes after he falls asleep, we arrive at Pathmark. The car’s movement facilitates his rest - when the car stops, he wakes up. I tell him that we’re going to get groceries, and I get out of the car. He follows, and we head inside. We approach the deli, and Christopher asks me a question: “Dad, why do the tags on my clothes say husky on them?” I tell him that the Rice family is big-boned, and he should not be concerned if he wears husky clothes. This comforts him, and he stops his line of questioning.
He’s getting fat though, and I worry. Lynda and her boyfriend feed him garbage, and don’t give a shit about the consequences. They only care about themselves. When we go to McDonald’s, I order a salad for him. He’s never happy about it, but he won’t debate me on it. I wonder if he knows that something is wrong.
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He greets me with a joyful and natural smile (the same way Lynda does), and always says “Good morning, Larry!” As soon as he jumps into the car, he becomes a motormouth that’s off to the races - asking about how my morning is going, telling me about an interesting thing he learned in class, or talking about the snail that his science teacher gave him (Lynda hates that snail). It’s about a 20 minute drive from Lynda’s house to the school - a two-story building sandwiched between a McDonald’s and a junkyard - and we usually talk for the entire ride. We get there an hour early. He asks the same question every day: “Larry...can we go to McDonald’s? I’m hungry.” I can’t say no to Lynda’s kid. Once we walk into the McDonald’s, his eyes brighten up. He looks at the photos on the menu as if they’re art. I let him order on his own, and he does it with confidence. He usually gets two McGriddles - a lot for a kid, but he sure has an appetite! Every time he comes back from his Dad’s house, he always looks thinner than how he went. I’m sure he could eat more if he wanted