My Son’s Father
The evening began with me realizing that I was in a room. Actually, that’s not quite right… I was in a big room. A stadium, in fact. Surrounded by both familiar and unfamiliar faces. I’ll bet you were there too, I just couldn’t find you.
Oh, there were so many people there. Even that guy, you know? With the thing? We were all there too watch… what..? I can’t remember. Maybe because the center of the room was quite suddenly no longer the center of my attention…
There was a boy there too, looking to be about 8 years old sitting in the seat right next to mine. He wore a big, goofy grin that gave away his amusement at my confusion. So I smiled back. He was very nice, so we chatted for what seemed a long while, all without any clue as to what brought such a large audience to that place.
As we chatted, the tension in the room seemed to ease back, and the air grew warm with the fire of good friendship. I knew that this child was going to become a great man someday, just from his character, charm, and intelligence. I think he knew it, too.
At some point, I paused to ask him about his parents, and where they were, or if they were worried about him. He shrugged and gestured to the seat next to him. I looked up, and suddenly realized I was looking into the eyes of Jeffrey Zeldman, one of my own heroes. What? I asked myself… this doesn’t seem right. My confusion only grew stronger as the Jeffrey look-a-like seemed to ease away, like one of those focal-point camera tricks that you see in movies.
So I asked the boy “He’s your Dad?”. He nodded and shrugged. Then flashed a charismatic smile that hinted that there was more going on here. Looking up again, I nearly fell backward when I saw that the figure had become a mirror of myself. It was at that point I woke up, cursing the alarm and considering what it all meant.
It wasn’t until the warm sting of the shower that I began to understand what my subconscious was telling me: That perhaps I might not ever be as great as someone like Jeffrey Zeldman, but I will always be the father of a son who is proud of me, no matter what.




Comments Back to Top
1. Dave McNally
May 28th, 2008
And I thought I had strange dreams ;)
On a more serious note, that was like a story that was just getting started when it ended, and that’s a shame as I was enjoying it. On the plus side, I doubt Zeldman has a way with a stylus like you! Oh, and does he know you’re dreaming about him?
2. Anton
May 28th, 2008
“just getting started when it ended”... but isn’t that the way it always goes with dreams? That we want to continue them just when we are forced to get up. Really, that’s how it went. It ended right when the alarm was reminding me that it was time to get my ass out of bed and head to work.
And no, Zeldman has no idea what odd dreams I have, any more than I know what dreams he has. But I don’t think he’ll mind. He knows that many people look up to him, probably in the same way that he looks up to his own heroes. It’s a lesson that we can learn from those we admire, but we don’t have to become them to be someone great.
3. Dave McNally
May 28th, 2008
So true, it’s as if our dreams know exactly when to wake us. It’s the really good ones that you can never continue with if you go back asleep too!
4. Matt Robin
May 29th, 2008
What…no Stormtroopers, no Orcs, fiery-eyed dragons, or even a squirrel with a flute, just Jeffrey Zeldman?!
:D
5. Anton
May 29th, 2008
Heh… not even fiery-eyed orc squirrels. I save that stuff for my illustrations. My dreams usually consist of real people that I’ve met. The other week it was D. Keith Robinson leading me out of a flooded NYC in a pontoon boat, to escape dinosaurs (no shit, that was a real dream).
6. Matt Robin
May 29th, 2008
>>”....no shit, that was a real dream.”
Pity, cos that sounded quite cool! :D
7. Marko Mihelcic
Jun 1st, 2008
Enjoyed Reading this! Tnx