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| panda-like calm through fiction | |||||||||
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Easter
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I seriously never thought I’d be a father. But you get older, priorities change, you meet a girl…
Which brings us to Rapa Nui, or Easter Island, as you probably know it- the place with all the ancient big head statues. Rapa Nui was where rapamycin was discovered, which is currently used as an immunosuppressant (for organ transplants) and as an antiproliferant (think chemo). Well, a recent study in mice found that the drug increased the lifespan of mice by between 28-38%. Another study says it may even be useful in treating autism. But believe me, these were just added bonuses- they didn’t yank me down off the fence, just made the landing a little softer once we’d decided to jump. Well, this girl likes science, but she’s also um, I know I’m going to make us both sound retarded, but spiritual, too. She thinks there’s important (and potent) symbolism in Rapa Nui- not to mention rapamycin has been linked to a miscarriage rate of maybe as much as 50%- so it’s way too early to start using the stuff on the kid. And she likes, but isn’t particularly swayed by the island’s earlier Dutch name, based on the maybe-goddess Eoster, mistress of light and dawn and quite possibly fertility and bunnies. (I thought it was probably in my best interest not to point out that the island’s Polynesian settlers, the same ones who carved the big heads, had also deforested the island while plying their craft- and the bad juju that vegetal barrenness might bring with it). I suggested if it turns out that we have a girl we call her Esther. She said that was fine, so long as if it were a boy she could name him “Eggs.” I told her no, and that True Blood, beyond not being a good show, had started to rot her mind. We settled on Bianca and Bernard from The Rescuers and Down Under, because she’s a ridiculous Disney fan (though if it turns out to be a boy, I’m going to insist on calling him “Ben” instead of “Bernie”). Which explains everything except why we’re sneaking into Rano Raraku, the quarry where most of the moai (the big heads- not what it translates to, just what I’ve been calling them) stones came from, late at night. And I’m pretty sure this is dumb- a new-agey version of trying different positions to determine the sex of the baby, but we decided to try conceiving here- to try and soak up whatever spiritual power (and potential longevity) the quarry might still have. We brought a blanket, and candles, but the moon is out tonight, and the grass is softer than you’d think, and the night air is pleasantly warm. There’s even an odd, not-quite-voyeuristic-but-close charm to the dozen or so big head statues watching us- and I can’t help but see the hint of a smile on their overlarge faces. I’d taken off my shoes and socks, to feel the moist, green grass between my toes, and I started to kinda think it all began when the girl got turned on reading the Wikipedia page, with its many uses of the word “erect.” And I also sort of suspect she mostly really wanted to go on a tropical vacation, and that she’s frisky enough to like the idea of sex in a lush green field- of course, these are both fine selling points for me, too, so it’s not like I’m complaining. It hits me that my daughter (or son- sorry in advance for the name) will live to see a whole century, and the idea of being a father overtakes me, and I start planning out her diet (because rapamycin has similar affects as limiting food intake, which in moderation can be safe enough for a child). And I suddenly realize I’ve been distracted, led by the hand, but that the girl I’m with finally stopped, and she smiles at me and says, “We’re here.” We are, I think, and I hope there’ll be another of us before we go. |
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