I figure I daylog here because it's some sort place in-between a private journal, which nobody but myself will ever read, and a blog, in which all my friends have more or less gotten sick of my endless whining and pondering and postulating and pontificating and alliteration. But on E2, I can just write to people who range from strangers to mild acquaintances, and you can either read it, or ignore it, or whatever.
I want to thank everybody who offered advice about the domain name deal I posted about on February 8, 2008. As of right now, as far as I know everything is still up in the air, although I made sure we renewed the domain name just to be safe. I'm really leaving it all in my wife's hands, as it belongs to her, but I do think I'll print out some of the advice to pass along to her. I'm inclined to agree that capitalism rules above all else, and the guy was not acting in good faith in the initial negotiations. He deserves to get his ass handed to him.
I'm writing here at the close of the first Easter Sunday that my daughter has existed (outside of a womb, that is). I took her to the relatives' place alone, as my wife is gone staffing a convention in Boston -- she wasn't able to go last year, what with the being pregnant and all, so we agreed she should be able to go this year and see her friends from that area again. Of course, this was before she realized the convention fell over the Easter holiday, and by then it was a bit too late to back out (without making things massively inconvenient for everybody there).
So I have been the single dad for three and a half days, and have one more to go until she returns. All in all, it hasn't been bad at all. My daughter has been very well behaved -- well, okay, not so much today, as she was climbing up the walls from all the excitement of seeing aunts and uncles and second cousins. And I've definitely been exhausted, getting to bed at 9:00 or 9:30pm most of these nights. But I've weathered it.
I was sitting here a few minutes back, browsing the web. I came across the website of some guy living in China who, among other things, developed an extensive Linux library used to dissect game ROM images. And for a moment, it made me illogically angry. Why? Well, that probably goes back to being at the Easter party. Everybody loves my daughter there. My uncle asks if she's reading yet, saying "probably just technical manuals right now, right?" My sister jokes that she'll be speaking a foreign language by the time she's three. And it irks the hell out of me, despite the fact that they're joking. I just smile and nod.
I was the first grandchild on both sides of my family, and I was the child prodigy. I've heard all the stories about how I was reading a newspaper in my dad's lap when I was two, telling people how televisions worked when I was five, playing piano and winning awards from first through sixth grade. I was the big computer whiz, and I could not turn around without some other relative telling me about how I was going to grow up to be rich and powerful and famous.
I'm not.
I mean, I have a great job that I love. I just got promoted to a team lead position. I have a wonderful wife, and a beautiful and adorable daughter, and a house with a good old fixed-rate mortgage (even if the house is tiny and seems to fall apart if I look at it funny). But I have made no giant contribution to the computing industry at large. I am hardly rich -- hell, in this America it's hard to even be middle class on one income. I'm about to turn twenty-nine and I feel like I am essentially a ghost, visible to my wife and daughter and very few others.
And I should really be satisfied with my life, as it is a very good and fortunate life, but there will always be those voices at the back of my head, from so long ago, telling me how successful I'm going to be. They built up this enormous ego in me and it's hard to let that go. I somehow feel like I let all those folks down; it's stupid, but that's how it seems. For all of my childhood brilliance, I'm just another guy.
I never want my daughter to feel that kind of pressure. I want her to know how much she means to me, and how special she is, but I will never lay the burden of being labeled a "prodigy" on her.