I ran into some festy friends at the hospital who had just had a new born baby born and I was like “Whaaa? You guys got a baby? That shit is a lot of responsibility you know that right? You know you’re gonna be taking care of that kid for a long ass time?”
They humbly responded and were like “yes.” They appreciated that I acknowledged and marveled at their child, but I wasn’t exactly saying a congratulations.
I was like, “Glad you like your baby, but summer’s coming up and there’s mad festivals to attend. We always travel the road and the circuit together, we have been for years. So what’s up? You gonna keep that kid in the tent, or leave it at home with a babysitter?”
They said “No festivals for us this year” and I don’t know how they could even say that. We’re supposed to be fam. Summer is what we live for. It’s the only time we all really see each other or talk. What about all the Molly we’ve done together, or the matching bracelets we made? Are we still fam?
I got flashed a couple summer bracelets and was told “We’re still fam, we’ll always be fam. Those moments are something we’ll never forget.”
And honestly, the forgetting part isn’t the problem. I can hardly remember large chunks of my summers, or even my life for that matter. What I care about is raving all night until the sun comes up with close ones. What I care about is us laughing and bonding through weirdness. What I care about and look forward to the most are the “Survivor’s Breakfasts,” where those of us who didn’t pass out or fall asleep during the night share a celebratory meal together in what is, unquestionably, an epic marathon of bizarre behavior and madness.
And what I heard….. “How can we forget about the blueberry pancakes?”
We’ve always said there’s only two seasons: festival season, and the remaining bullshit season. It seems as though with the birth of this baby, festival season will here on out contain some bullshit as well. That’s it. It’s over! Nothing good lasts forever!
I couldn’t help but audibly sigh and say “Kids suck” under my breath. Seeing two of my favorite festy pals do something like this? It honestly felt like a stab in the back.
“Next summer the baby will be a year old…”
“And of course we’ll take him on the road with us. He’ll be ready then!”
I needed a moment to think.
And more time.
Maybe I am the one giving up on the fam here? Maybe my response has been, well, a bit selfish? And this baby could be a prodigy baby, you know? Growing up at the festivals and in the right environment, it’ll likely develop extraordinary skills and rhythm, and could easily become like, really really good at the bongos or something. He’ll have the headstart that I never had—that I wish I had.
I needed many more minutes to think…
“It’s a boy!?! Congratulations!”
We sat and began talking excitedly about how cool the kid is gonna grow up to be, and how we’ll all help raise him and give him water and teach him how to glowstick.
And like that, it felt like fam was back together all over again. This baby is only a minor setback. This upcoming summer might be a bit less exciting, but things will bounce back and be better than ever. The fam will have a new member next year.
It was then that a nurse came in in a panic and escorted me back to my room. She was saying there was an alert that I went missing. But really, I found what I needed to.