Dies Natalis
 

BYERS:

July 12, 2001

Another sultry day is on tap. The sun is barely up, but you'd never know it from the ambient temperature.

This is normally not a consideration...but the air conditioning in the building gave way last night...and needless to say, everyone and their brothers are in line for repairs.

Our landlord says, sometime early next week.

We could all have melted by then.

I know I'm being petty and childish about it, but I'm a redhead; I get warm easily. And I'm not terribly agreeable when the heat and humidity become this overpowering.

I won't be here for much of the day; I'm on several dissertation committees, and I'm meeting with two committees this morning for that. A policy meeting after that regarding add/drop...another bureaucratic yawn.

I'm supposed to present a paper to a political science symposium in August, and I haven't even done the literature search. I've barely even decided on a topic. I need to seriously address that today.

I'm interviewing a potential candidate for a faculty position in the department. She looks very good on paper, but then, they all do. Phone interviews don't do it for me. I have to be in the room with the person, get a feel for them, whether or not I could comfortably work with this individual.

I'm doing some research right now regarding the ladies that have claimed that former President Clinton sexually assaulted them. While I had no great love for Clinton, I did not feel he was doing a terrible job overall...and I consider the accusations that were leveled against him and ultimately forced his resignation to be machinations of the powers that now appear to be propelling our government. There's been a lot of ranting and raving regarding the man's moral deficits, but as for substantial evidence...well, that's been in short supply, and what I have uncovered, I consider to be specious at best. This will go into TMB for August, provided I can substantiate my hypothesis by then.

If I do uncover facts that would undermine my hypothesis, well, that's fine as well. I try to remember to let the data drive the research. Not my beliefs. Not my hypotheses.

However, I refuse to pretend that what I do is neutral. I once felt, in the grand tradition of research, that to be valuable, research had to be neutral, objective, value-free. It had to contain nothing of the researcher to taint it.

I have come to the realization that research is always politically motivated, regardless of the discipline it occurs in.

This admission is about as close to heresy as one can get in my field. I was trained as a quantitative researcher-when I was trained, there was no other kind, at least not that was taken seriously. And I have to admit, when coursework became available in qualitative studies, I dismissed it as touchy-feely, nonrigorous, nonreplicable, and thus, not useful. While a
number of my cohorts in adjoining fields began to impart ethnographic studies and narrative analysis in their work, I was still working on the basis of log-linear analysis, multivariate analysis, things you could hook numbers to. All end-point based. That research was not necessarily end-point based was simply something I could not comprehend.

For someone who has not spent their adult life in academia, this sounds trivial, silly, absurd. But if you have been in the ivory tower, this is about as close as you get to an identity crisis.

I remember my last one well. It started the day I met Susanne. I've been pretty much enmeshed in it ever since.

I think to myself, where is your brain, John Fitzgerald Byers? What have you been thinking all these years?

My dissertation-and my area of specialty-is how public policy decisions impact health care delivery systems and vice versa. My previous analyses have all been numerically based-outcomes, costs, personnel.

But no attention to the process. Strictly end points.

And it has come to my attention that I have made a horrible mistake.

All of a sudden, my paper topic comes into focus.

I have a lot of work to do.
 

The dissertation committee meetings seem to go slowly, but the truth is, they are over in less than an hour each. I shake my head at the work of the well-meaning, but misguided, graduate students who have come to us with their proposals, wishing us to sponsor them.

I made some comments in the meeting, but after each of them was greeted by a glare, skepticism, or stony silence, I realized this was not the forum for expressing what I need to tell these students.

I will tell them in person. I did agree to be their advisor, after all.

So I'll advise.

Why am I looking at my chosen profession with new eyes just now?

What took me so long?
 

I did not care for the candidate I interviewed this morning. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her credentials, nothing lacking in her CV. For some reason, I just...

I didn't trust her, to be blunt.

I'm not even sure why. I just had a bad feeling about her. I decide I will not offer her a second interview.

Pretty lame basis for decision making, but for some reason, the idea of working with this woman turns my stomach.

She is clean, attractive, fairly young (34), and brilliant. Yet she seems to be of a bent that is far too in line with the current administration. And I am not certain if this is truly what she believes, or if she is simply ambitious and goes with the flavor of the month.

I can't put my finger on it, but she made me uncomfortable.

Time for lunch with the vice-chancellor. It will be at the University Center, in the faculty dining area. The food will be delicious, the wines top shelf.

I would personally prefer a greasy cheesesteak and sitting in the office with Frohike and Langly.
 

LANGLY:

We're really going to the beach. In the middle of the week. Well, it's Thursday, which is sort of like the middle of the week when you've got a day job.

This is like such a treat.

Miranda and Shelby helped Ally pack lunch, and it looks awesome from what I can tell. I know there are strawberries in there, and they looked killer. Strawberries can make me your slave. That, and some other things, which Ally has already treated me to.

Not just last night. That was just the warm-up.

There was this morning.

This is, however, a family outing, so I'll spare the more intimate details. Suffice to say, if that was my only birthday present, I'd be happy.

But it gets better. We're headed for Chesapeake Bay, for swimming and lying around and goofing off.

And it's Patrick's birthday, too. He's 4, and thinks going to the beach on his birthday is a very cool idea. We just hope that since he has to share the back seat of the Neon with the girls, he's still alive when we reach the water. (You don't seriously think I'd volunteer my car for a trip like this? Besides, Ally's already has sand in it. A little more won't make any difference). Ally got him some plastic stuff to use at the beach. He better share.

Small children have some bizarre qualities. Like even when they haven't been up that long, and they look like they've just been washed, they seem to be sticky. I'm not sure what this is. Patrick attracts stickiness like shit attracts flies. I'm not sure how he does it.

But they're also soft and cuddly, and it's like, when he's sleepy, he's so nice to hold. He's real warm and they have real soft breath and skin and hair.

And he's mine. I mean, he's related to me.

It really was Scott. He is-was-my brother.

The body will be released on Monday.

Looks like I get to do another funeral. I have to plan this one, but after the fiasco with Joanie, at least I get to do it my way.

I'm gonna have Ally and me say Kaddish for him and have him cremated and throw his ashes in Chesapeake Bay. I think he'd like that.

I wish now I'd had a chance to know him. Maybe in time, we'd have gotten along real good...if he hadn't been sick and all...if he hadn't been gunned down...

If, if, if. God. How many times a day do we say it, think it?

I mean, I'm 38 years old today. I need to stop saying that. If this, if that...it's like, here it is. Here and now.

And I did notice a few more gray hairs. Let's not even talk about the ones that are missing. They're getting more plentiful. I can still brush it so you can't tell...too much. At least I can still grow it, for Christ's sake.

Junior makes any comments about me being older and balder, I'll belt him. Swear.

But I can deal with that another time. Today, it's a family day, and I'm so looking forward to this. I can't believe me, Ringo Langly, paranoid computer hacker, is so amped just to head to the beach with my wife and nephew and stepdaughter and her best friend.

So it's not Ozzie and Harriet. Big fucking deal.

Definitely it's not Harriet that steps out of the bedroom in this blue sarong with a blue bikini top, her hair all up in a dragonfly clip, silver chain around her belly...oh my God.

Down, Langly. It's a family outing.

No fair, Ally.

She winks at me.

She is so naughty.
 

"I'll drive if you want," she offers.

I shudder. I have driven with Ally at the controls. It's always an interesting situation, seeing if you'll make it to your destination in one piece when she's piloting her little craft.

"I think we'd all like to stay alive for this one," I say to her. She sticks her tongue out at me.

Don't do that unless you're gonna use it, Ally.

She pops this blue hat on her head, and Miranda immediately starts in on her.

"Mom, you're not supposed to wear skater hats!"

Ally looks sincerely puzzled. She gets that look that she has when she's got no clue what's going on.

"Huh? This is a skater hat?"

"Yes, it is, and you're too old!"

Ally thinks about this for about five seconds, announces that she refuses to take it off, and Miranda informs her that she wants nothing to do with her when we get to the beach. Ally's like, fine.

Like they would hang around us anyway! Not!
 

The beach is so awesome. It's not the weekend, so we don't have to share with 50,000 of our most intimate friends.

Patrick was pretty obnoxious for the start of the trip, but then he crashed out. He's still kind of groggy when we start unpacking everything.

We figure once he figured out it was sand and water time, he'd be like Taz.

He looks around like he doesn't get it. His blue eyes, which I notice are the same color as mine, look up at me.

"Where's Daddy?"

"Huh?" I mean, I know what Mulder said, but he hasn't asked about his dad in a few days now.

"Daddy takes me here."

I somehow doubt he means this exact location.

"Play in the water. Me and Daddy." He's totally confused.

He's a smart kid, but something's not clicking for him.

Then I remember...he was born in Bimini, in the Bahamas...no wonder he thinks he's come to see his dad.

"He's not here, Patrick," Ally stoops down, and she talks in her real soft voice. "He can't come here."

"No!" This idea doesn't work for Patrick. "I go in the water with Daddy."

"He can't play in the water anymore," I tell him. And I feel pretty shitty about it. It's the kid's birthday, we're at the beach...and he's like totally bummed.

"Why?" He's starting to cry.

Ally picks him up and he struggles, so I take him. She pops out two sand chairs. I sit down with him in one.

"'Cause he died." Not a very diplomatic response, but hey, what else can I tell him?

He's gotta know. Plus, we're gonna be saying goodbye to his dad real soon.

I wish to God we didn't have to...in more ways than one.

"That means he doesn't get to come and play anymore," I say to him.

Poor little guy. He's just sobbing.

I don't think this is what I had in mind when Ally said we'd have a beach day.
 

I just cuddle him for a while. Ally slathers him with some sunblock; we're not there long before I see him turning pink.

She tells me to set him in her chair while she does me.

Ah, this is nice.

"Daddy puts stuff on me." Patrick says when she's doing my back.

"That's so you don't get burned," Ally explains.

I'm all sticky with Bullfrog SPF 30 pretty soon. I hate this stuff, it's slimy and sticky and smells lousy, but you only have to put it on once. And it works.

As for bad sunburns, been there, done that.

Patrick sees the bottle and smiles. "Daddy's stuff!" I think it was the frog on the label.

"That's what your daddy used?" Ally asks.

He smiles big, first time since we got here. "Yeah!"

I play with his hair. It's white. Just like mine used to be. And real fine.

He climbs back in my lap. Starts pulling on my chest hair-ow.

"Like Daddy!" He squeals with delight.

Yeah, and just about every other adult male on the planet...but he doesn't know that.

"Hey, I can take you in the water," I tell him.

He's not sure about this, but he says finally, okay.

I motion to Ally to come along, but she smiles and says she's gonna hang back.

"Why?" I want her to come.

She grins evilly. "Because. I want to just look at your ass for a while."

She is so so so bad.
 

Once he's in the water, he's in his element. I mean, he grew up at the beach. I didn't know this till after Scott died. He wouldn't say where he was living before. I finally got some e-mail from people he lived with down there. Guess before he died he told them to contact me.

At least he knew how to choose real estate. Living in the tropics...not bad.

And he's fun. He's not like Miranda, who if you splash her, she gets all pissy and yells that you're gonna ruin her hair. She and Shelby are walking up the beach. Probably cruising for guys.

God.

But Patrick, he likes diving under the waves and splashing hard and he likes it when you splash him back. And he can swim, which is great.

He's been through a lot for such a little guy.

And playing with him, man...

I love him so much. This hits me like a ton of bricks when he holds out his arms and screeches for me to pick him up and drop him in the waves. Like being hit with a tsunami, all of a sudden, I get this incredible flood of affection for him. It's real powerful, even I can't figure out exactly why.

Maybe there's a bio-bond, maybe something else, maybe a combination. I don't know what.

But when Ally finally decides to stop looking and start playing, it's like, this day was made for me.

I was so alone for so long. And sometimes being surrounded all the time by people that need me and count on me is such a drain.

But God, how I feel about them...this is just so amazing.

A birthday gift!

Ally looks so hot in her bikini. She didn't wear the thong one that she wore in Mexico, but this is Chesapeake Bay, and a family beach, and a family outing.

She still looks real hot.

That reminds me...we still have tickets to Cozumel.

Maybe we should go for her birthday. That's next month.

When I was growing up, I hated that my birthday was in summer.

Now, today, I love it.

Miranda and Shelby actually come over for a while and hang out with us. I don't know if this is because there are no cool dudes on the beach or they feel guilty...I don't care. It's the five of us, and we're hanging in the water, and laughing, and splashing around.

I could never have imagined this. And I can imagine a lot.

Finally, Ally and me go back to shore. Patrick wants to play with the plastic stuff Ally got him. He wants me to play, but Ally says it's her turn to have Uncle Langly for a while.

Which also means we can break into the cooler. Packed with Coronas...and Sam Adams.

She really does love me. She got me Sam Adams.

She puts a lime slice in hers, offers me one...no thanks. I'm a purist about Sam.

Sam is the one thing me and Junior can always agree on.

Her hair's all wet and even with sunblock on her face is a little pink, and the few freckles she's got are popping out all over.

She just looks fantastic.

"Having a decent birthday?" She asks me this as she pops the top from her Corona and toasts me. "L'chaim."

"Pretty damn nice." And it is.

I'm hungry. We break into the cooler, and it's full of awesomely good stuff...she's got these sandwiches with mozzarella and viniagrette and peppers and basil and tomatoes. My favorite. And a pb&j for Patrick. He hasn't cultivated a taste for cool stuff yet, but hey, he is only four today, and I would've gone for the pb&j at his age.

And berries. Ally knows I love strawberries...and these are great. She takes one and pops it in my mouth.

She better be careful with the kids around. We may have to go into the bushes or something...if we can find any.

I do the same for her, and we keep feeding each other berries...

"You guys are disgusting." Miranda and Shelby are back, and Miranda wrinkles up her nose at us. Ally laughs. The girls start raiding our berry supply.

"Only going to get worse," Ally tells them, grinning wickedly. She pulls out these chocolate mini-cakes...did she bake these?

"This morning," she said.

Oh God. I died and went to heaven. I LOVE these suckers. They're real dark chocolate, with lots of chocolate chips in them, and fudge for icing...

One for everyone.

"Just one?" That's all she brought me?

"I saved you another one at home," she smiles at me.

Patrick thinks these are yummy.

"They're birthday cakes," Ally tells him.

"It's my burfday!" He yells out, laughing.

"Well, it's Uncle Langly's birthday too," she says gently to him.

"No, it's MY burfday!" He's like, how can it both his birthday and my birthday both?

"Sort of reminds me," Ally is giggling now. "When Miranda was about his age, Eric came back from a three-week trip to Korea. He came home, and we were on the sofa together, and she comes over and knocks me out of the way. I said, hey, he's my husband, I missed him! And she goes, no, he's my daddy! I think at that age they have trouble seeing us as multiple identities in multiple roles."

Multiple identities. Multiple roles.

That's us nowadays.

Used to be, I felt like, I was one person, with one singular identity. I was me.

Now I'm lots of things. Husband, parent, employee, uncle, associate, friend, lover...

I never felt more like me.

She leans over and kisses me, hard.

"Happy birthday, babe."

Oh, you're not kidding!

END OF PART 67