#Air raid being a soccer kid is so important actually

[the-chaotic-anon]

Headcanon for @ugly-bug-starscream and @edd-drawsyo’s Transformers One AU!!! AirRaid potentially being in the final battle is such a great concept to chew on but I wondered how exactly he might hold his own considering he’s, well… a kid. I think he’d be really good at sports so I think he’d just cave soldiers heads in like a football.

And he could use the thrusters on his feet to power his kicks! Little soccer bot over here about to hit a home run. Idk, I don’t play sports.

[raystart]

Fatherhood Forces a Selfish Creative to Grow Up

A friend called the other day. His partner is expecting their first child within the week. Two years ago they were living in a yurt. Now they’ve got wish lists of baby shower gifts on all the major e-commerce sites.

“I’m cranking on projects as fast as possible and remodeling the basement and replanting the yard,” he said, a little breathless, like a guy on too much Adderall.  “But, really, I can’t wait! I’m super excited.”

I’ve never had an expectant parent tell me they were scared to death and kind of resentful, or worried that their entire way of being was about to change, or that their career as an artist/writer/musician/creativist was about to nose dive into a lumpy sea of incredibly malodorous baby poop…at least not within the first two paragraphs of a conversation.

This time it took about three minutes. My friend is 35. Because parenthood is a place that you can’t quite begin to imagine before you’ve found yourself marooned there (no matter how many books you’ve read), the only thing he really understood at this point about the coming years of self-sacrifice was the specter of sleep deprivation.

“I need a clear head to work,” he bemoaned. “There’s a certain flow to my day. How am I supposed to get anything done? What have I gotten myself into?”

***

Like many an aspiring artist before me, I entered the writing game, in part, because I fancied myself capable of making some kind of mark on the world. I started working at my craft with serious intent beginning around 11thgrade.

Later I followed my muse through the seamy underground milieu that became my journalistic beat—sometimes I pictured her as one of my idols, the anthropologist Margaret Meade, updated for the task with black jeans and Dr. Martens, a stainless steel throwing knife strapped to her ankle. I lived with a crack gang in LA, hung out with pitbull fighting middle schoolers in the ghetto of North Philadelphia—the most disappointing of the dogs were hung with electrical wiring from rafters of abandoned houses. I embedded with the Animal Liberation Front on a raid of a federal research facility—29 cats and seven miniature African piglets were saved that night. I lived inside a refugee camp in Gaza during the early days of the Palestinian Intifada. I even risked a days-old marriage engagement to my future ex-wife with an assignment at a swinger’s convention on the Gulf coast of Florida. I shall never forget one husband from Alabama, his greenish teeth: You gonna get with my wife, ain’t cha?

By the time I was 35, I felt like I was beginning to make some progress—the work I’d produced was the evidence, little darlings that had come alive and could speak for themselves.

When the idea of actual children came up, however, I was pretty militant: I believed I had a higher calling on this mortal sphere than mere parenthood– which, after all, is something anyone who is physically able can do. I wanted a quest, not an heir. To devote so much time and effort to the vain purpose of reproducing myself seemed a waste of my talent. I was, after all, the great river of Mike. I had a turbine to spin. Work to produce. A legacy to leave. To waste one drop of energy on such a mundane pursuit as child rearing seemed unthinkable.

That scene in the movie Breakfast at Tiffany’s? Where Paul (George Peppard) goes with Holly Golightly (Audrey Hepburn) into the New York Public Library and takes out is own book? And she makes him sign it?

I could have died happy right there.

***

After no small amount of drama, I learned that nature takes its course, despite one’s grander plans. I might have considered myself an artist, but I was still human. My wife wanted a kid. I wanted my wife. I suppose that’s nature’s plan.

Going into fatherhood at 37, I remember being super excited—furiously baby-proofing the outlets and toilet seats, adding gates on the antique hand-tooled staircase, upgrading the master bathroom, equipping the whole house, upstairs and down, with air conditioners against the impending summer of high pregnancy.

I also remember being deeply fearful that I’d inalterably screw up this human life I’d so selfishly created. Or this human life I’d so selfishly created would inalterably screw up the artistic life I’d so selfishly created for myself.

At the time, I had some understanding of the sacrifices that were about to be made as I entered parenthood. I knew there would be no more staying up to all hours partying or reading, sleeping until the early afternoon. No more bragging about how, as a self-employed creative, I owned every hour of every day and nobody owned me. No more spontaneous smoky salons, full of deviant artistic types, taking place in my dining room. No more unplugging the clock, no more ignoring the needs of others, no more onanistic pursuit of the creative brass ring.

No more pandering to the spoiled and ill-behaved bon vivant who represented my inner creative.

For fifteen years, my talent had been my child. And there was nothing I wouldn’t give to him, do for him, sacrifice for him.

And believe me, he could be a crazy little fucker.

***

The first night we brought home my son from the hospital, we put him to sleep between us in the bed. Exhausted, my now-ex fell asleep immediately. I lay there wide awake, afraid I would roll over and crush him. As the hours wore on, I noticed my kid had a stuffy nose—kind of like both sides of the family, we’re all allergic. I stayed up all night, watching his chest move up and down, terrified he would stop breathing.

Over the next months and years of my fatherhood, the selfish creative inside of me was forced to grow up, though not without a fight. We don’t need to go into all the sordid details—let’s just say I was left with enough material to write a novel called Deviant Behavior, which I like to think of as a memoir of male post-partem depression.

But as time passed, and I realized exactly how much this kid needed me—and how rewarding, in the most elemental way, time with him could be—my creative self managed to mature and become a mensch, which is a Yiddish word that means, in a nutshell, “a person who does the right thing.” There was a new baby in the house. Everyone else had to grow up.

And so it was that I began to keep regular hours. I would stop work every so often to take a baby break, often interrupt my work entirely because some super-important errand had to be run (one of my crucial designated duties). Over the next two decades, hours of perfectly good creative time were spent sitting in doctor’s offices, on the floor playing with toys, on the couch watching Pokemon, in tiny chairs and then bigger chairs in school classrooms, on buses going to fieldtrips, in godawful bleachers, in a car driving back and forth from college.

Along the way, I learned that the mighty river of Mike could be diverted and that more tributaries could be formed, additional turbines supported. The old maxim about getting more done when you have more  to do? I had a kid to help raise. Soccer and basketball teams to coach. Carpet wrestling to engage in. Homework to supervise. Ice cream to dip. Story time. Jump shot. Junior Prom. The Talk. Driving lessons.

Oh, and my career.

I have a photo on the wall of my office bathroom, one of my favorite hero shots—a selfie I took in a motel room in central California at six or seven in the morning. I was with my son at a basketball tournament. He’d played two games the evening before and was still asleep. I had a column due Monday morning. I wheeled the desk chair into the bathroom. The counter made a decent desk. The photo records the moment, the hero in a true life setting, daddy getting it done.

My son is 23 now. My services as a father are still needed, most often via text; we do on occasion collaborate on projects as colleagues, though that’s a piece for a different day. Sometimes, looking back on the years of his childhood—the early mornings, the school projects, the usual family sturm und drang—I wonder how I ever got anything done, much less managed to create some lasting pieces, and, yes, to make a small mark. Sometimes I also think about the way my son’s life changed the course of my career entirely. Because my son needed me, and because I wanted to be there for him, I made different choices, I stayed close to home and kept my travels to a minimum.

But I also know, without a doubt, that of all the stories I’ve done, of all the places I’ve gone and the people I’ve met, nothing has taught me as much as fatherhood. 

Because raising a child is the ultimate creative act.

[knockoutlives]

We Start With Stars In Our Eyes.

“You have a what?!?”

“A date, he's a guy I met at the park. I dunno, there was just a spark. Like we've met before. It's probably nothing asides a one night thing.”

“A One Night Thing? Spencer James! I don't want to hear anything like that!”

“Relax Abby! I don't mean sex, I just mean. He probably lives down here, and I'm up in Philadelphia. So asides this one date I doubt I'll see him again unless I'm here.”

“Well as you know I'm not opposed to seeing my favorite nephew more often…”

“...She's actually not kidding, I know I can sometimes be a downer. But, she gets more excited to see you then her own son” said a voice coming into the kitchen.

Spencer looked down at the glass of water and then looked towards his cousin. Kevin stood in the doorway in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. The boy hadn't really kept up with appearance as of lately. Due to his relationships, “break”.

“That's not true, I love being around both you boys!” Abigail said from her seat across the counter from Spencer. “But. Because you were asleep when Spence got in last night, I'm going to let you two catch up and go check on Sam and Joe, and make sure their homework is actually getting done. You both know, if they don't actually work they'll be at eachother's throats” Abigail smiled and squeezed Spencer's shoulder, as she left the table and kissed Kevin on the cheek, before leaving the kitchen, feeling the air of the room shift almost immediately.

The tension in the room that seemed to amplify as Abigail left and continued to grow, up until Kevin spoke from the sink where he was pouring himself a glass of water, eyes facing the window in front of him, clearly not fully present on the room. Snapping out of the daze, Kevin spoke.

“I left him. Not the other way around, if that's what you're thinking. I mean. Everyone seems to think that, when they hear that we're on a break. How could Prima, the love struck doe, leave the reformed man slut that is Mak MacArthur? It's always written on their faces, even when they don't ask. But, it was easy. I told him to get out.”

“I mean…”Spencer took a breathe, this wasn't how he was planning to ask his cousin how the break happened. He originally planned on avoiding the conversation, until it was just awkwardly there staring them in the face. But, clearly Prima wanted to rip that band-aid off, with whatever skin was attached to it. “...yes I grew close to Mak. But, you're blood Kev. Your feelings are more important to me then his.” Spencer got up from his chair and leaned on the counter next to Kevin, “He did try to talk to me a few weeks ago. Maybe, a week or two after your breakup but, I didn't respond or answer him. It wasn't my place to get involved.” The younger boy sighed softly as he placed his hand on the older's shoulder.

Kevin tensed slightly under Spencer's touch, and then turned to his cousin. His eyes were glassed over, and Spencer couldn't help but pull the older boy into a hug. “Listen, whatever happens to you and Mak. I'm gonna be here to help you pick up any pieces on the ground. Even if that means dragging your ass up to Philadelphia and keeping you there for some time. Hell, I'll even bring you up to see Vinny in New York if you want. Last I saw online he and Troi were living together, and had a pretty nice place. Whatever will help you, I'm here and so are the others. We love you.”

Kevin took a deep breathe into Spencer's shoulder, and let the floodgates loose on his cousin's shoulder while he was being reassured. Sniffling he removed his tear stained eyes and looked up at Spencer admiring how much his younger cousin had grown in the past few years. His eyes scanning Spencer's face,and the landing in the damp shoulder his face had just been burried in.

”I'm sorry.”

A soft laugh escaped Spencer's throat and he smiled. “I have to change anyway, so let it all out if you have too”

“I heard...you're seeing Josh again? I thought that didn't end too well.”

“Oh no, not Josh. Though I did awkwardly run into him at Starbucks earlier.”

Kevin laughed softly and grabbed Spencer's glass of water from the counter for a drink, before wiping his eyes again with his hand.  “Was my idea, of setting you two up that bad of an idea? I mean he's only four years younger than you. It couldn't have been THAT bad. I mean you still haven't told me about what even happened on that date.”

“And that's a story for another time, because I'm not even going to try to explain to you how it went. Ever heard of the Nighthold Raid? Or, the Emerald Dungeon or something like that? No, neither did I. And it just got better…..” Spencer sighed as he started out of the kitchen with Kevin a few steps behind.

“Now, I need you to help me get ready for tonight.”

~~~~~

“Relax, it's just a date.” Spencer whispered to himself as he looked into the mirror and ran a hand through his silver hair. He for once was glad he had packed an extra outfit or two. Years ago his mother had began drilling it into his head; always pack an extra set of clothes to impress. You never know when you're going to be put on the spot.  He laughed at the thought of his mother, which in turn also calmed himself down slightly.

Normally he didn't give any real thought to his outfits. If he was going to class or to the studio he didn't really care about his appearance. Though, he always looked put together, even if his jeans had paint stains down the legs or his band tees were overly wrinkled, it was him. Though he couldn't lie; he enjoyed getting the care packages from his aunt with all the new samples her boutique had.

“Earth to Spencer….you awake in there? Because if you're accepting what you wearing right now I'm going to get my mother to go into total makeover mode”

Snapping out of his thoughts Spencer turned away from the mirror and towards his cousin. “No, Abby isn't needed at all, jerk” he said with a laugh as he playfully threw his black t shirt at his cousin. “You know if she came in to help, she'd change her mind fifteen times and Adam would be waiting on me for an extra hour, minimum.”

“Oh? So this mystery man, is picking you up from the house?”

“Yes, and soon.” Spencer said as he grabbed his phone from next to Kevin to check the time fast. 7:45  “Fuck.” he mumbled disappearing into his rooms bathroom and closing the door halfway behind him to still hear Kevin.

“Are you even going to tell me about him? Even his name?”

From the bathroom Spencer sighed as he dropped his black basketball shorts and boxers, laughing at himself internally. Are you really changing into more appropriate underwear? Just to potentially look good if the night goes there? Yes. Sliding a pair of simple black Calvin Klein trunks onto his lower half, he looked in the medicine cabinet's mirror and sighed. All that confidence he had earlier at the park was gone, or at least hiding.

“His name is Adam, and honestly I can't tell you more asides that he plays soccer. Wether it's just a hobby, or what I will be finding out tonight. Notable features include dark beautiful hair, deep never ending ___ eyes, and a southern accent that I could used to hearing.”

“Says the boy who was just telling my mother, it'll probably be a one night thing. Did you put on your 'Im getting laid underwear’?”

With a grin on his face Spencer left the bathroom, now with a pair of faded jeans on (that hugged him in all the right places) and headed past Kevin to the mess of clothes spilling out of his suitcase. “Perhaps. All I’m going to say with that is don’t wait up for me.” “Spencer James!” Kevin said sitting up from the bed where he was laying, and looking over at Spencer as he pulled a tan polo shirt over his head. “Don’t be stupid.” “Kev, relax. I promise, I have no intention of sleeping with someone I just met. I mean, ya we joked about it. Like, flat out admitted to each other in not so many words, that I could easily take him down.” Spenders continued as he fastened a brown strapped watch to his wrist, and feeling a vibration come from his pocket.

Hey Handsome I'm on my way.

Unable to help it, Spencer started smiling and couldn't help rereading the simple text message over and over, as simple as the message was. It has felt like years since another guy had pined over him, nonetheless called him 'handsome’ without trying to get in his pants in years. Not that this couldn't be just a local woo-ing someone from out of town, with thoughts of getting lucky.

“The southern accent is common here right?” The smile dropping slightly from Spencer's lips. “Or, is it just by chance?”

As if knowing where his cousin was going, he stood up and smiled at Spencer, before turning him around and looking at the two of them in the mirror. “We're going to have one of those sappy moments in front of a mirror like they do in all those movies from the nineties.”

“We don't have to” Spencer said running a hand through his silver hair and sighing softly. “I mean he seems like a nice  guy, so I'm just gonna wing it and see what happens.”

“Good, you deserve this.”

Spencer stepped away from the mirror and slipped his feet into a pair of brown leather shoes. “How do I look?” He asked turning around to face Kevin once more.

“I mean I've been looking at you for the last 15 minutes getting ready and I didn't correct your outfit once, I feel like that says alot right there. But, you look fine. If this guy's doesn't at least try to put any type of moves on you, he's gotta be straight.,”

Feeling his phone vibrate once more in his pocket l, Spencer looked down at the notification on his screen;

Here.

“Oh. My. Ferrari.”

Hearing his cousin's statement Spencer joined him by the window and let his jaw drop slightly gazing down at the gorgeous red car at the curb. What am I getting myself into. Before he could comprehend his thoughts, or the fact that the driver was no longer in the car, Spencer heard the doorbell ring.

“I’ll get it!” Kevin almost shouted as he started for the door to head down the stairs to the front door.

“To hell you will” Spencer said as he shoved past his cousin, through the doorway, and down the stairs. Almost tripping over himself every step of the way, he straightened himself out arriving at the landing and proceeded to walk the final steps to the front door.

Through the frosted glass he could could only make out the shape of Adam as he took a fast breathe to try and center himself one last time. This was the first time anyone had met him at the door. Usually, even with his friends back home there was the stereotypical 'here.’ text and then he made his way to the car, or the outside of his building. Granted it was a total different type of situation then the one that was playing out before him, but this alone made him giddy on the inside. Someone was actually acting chivalrous, towards him.

“Open the damn door!” Kevin all but hissed from a safe spot on the staircase to observe.

In one fluid motion, Spencer reached for the door and tugged on it lightly.

“Hey there”