Priority

Normally, at home if anybody calls me I’ll respond. I won’t come running; I don’t run. I’ll show up, though, and I may even be helpful, but I’m quite likely to ascertain the cause of your outcry with a view to increasing your pleasure, especially if your name is Porter. That’s what I do most of the time, and it’s tiresome.

I realize that I made up the necessity of springing into action whenever I can, and now I’ve made up a story about why. When I was growing up, I learned “Women and children first,” and part of growing up was learning to defer to women and girls, not using profanity around them and holding doors and chairs for them. That’s why.

On top of that, from Pete, my father, I learned to just give women and children what they want, especially women, starting with my mother through right over here. Don’t ask, just do it; it’s way easier, although we didn’t use “way” that way way back then.

When I became a father, I came to understand how a wolf—after running umpteen miles in the freezing dark, then killing some inoffensive ungulate, and finally gorging on delicious raw flesh—could deny his own body and turn over the food he has won and damn near digested to his child’s mouth straight from his. “It’s everything I’ve been able to scrape together, and I want you to have it. Take the food from my own personal mouth—not a figure of speech.”

When my oldest son slid out and I fell in love with my first skinny grey conehead, I got it. Sacrifice! Of course I’ll vomit my hard-earned food into his mouth and then wipe his other end when he’s done. No problem.

Since I’ve lived for many years exclusively with women and children, my reaction to nearly anything requiring prioritizing involves first putting me and my druthers last. This is inconsistent with the notion of doing for myself so I can do for others, a shockingly sensible idea I’m sure I’ll manage to get used to.

Meanwhile here’s what I do. If I’m outside, I ignore any sounds and talk, including most pleas for help, that come to me through a window. If I’m personally summoned, fine, but signs of distress, like the Bat-Signal, don’t count if I just hear them accidentally. In a way, I’ve quit volunteering for the cleanup, no matter the mess. I’ll still clean up, just not unless I’m asked. It’s a step.