I Found My Newborn's Diary

he hid it in diaper

I found my newborn’s diary. He hid it in his diaper, which he knows I check once¹ a day. I can’t be too disappointed in his unforced error because– after all- he’s still young, like me. 

It would be wrong of me to actually read his journal (moleskine). He might treat confession differently than dad, who broke his own personal codes of comedic good taste to post confessionally about fatherhood just so he could maintain reader attention long enough to pitch his “weird songs” and “merch with cacti wearing hats.” It could very much be the case that my newborn’s inner life is for no one but himself. Still, I have been trying to decipher whether or not he likes me, so this whole scenario seems really convenient re: my needs. 

I opened his moleskine (soft cover! red!) and quickly realized there be more deciphering to do. My wiwl baby boy, you see, writes in dialect. 

MY NEWBORN’S DIARY ENTRY:

No matter how hard I tried, I could not crack a translation. I might have been up to the task in college, but these days I lack the academic support to accurately translate obscure texts. Even then (2006-2010) I wasn’t exactly a budding intellect. If you had told my 21 year old self that his senior translation (Latin to English) of St. Augustine’s shortest known letter would be the crowning achievement of his scholastic life, he would have interrupted you, tear stricken, to ask whether New York or Chicago would best support his unique brand of authentic improv comedy. It’s amazing to not be that guy anymore. It’s amazing to be a father. 

But translation isn’t my only option. I’m actually incredibly intuitive. I can use the same skills that allow me to read subtext in both a friendly acquaintance's greetings (they hate me) and a fellow comedian’s lack of internet engagement with my work (they fear me) to glean the heart of my son’s mysteries. 

Time to shine. I kneel in front of the page. I breathe in mystic patterns taught to me over zoom. I dissolve my focus into the periphery as if attacking a Magic Eye 3D Image. Suddenly, I can read. 

MY NEWBORN’S DIARY ENTRYIES:

I tuck the Moleskine XL Cahier Journal (cranberry red) into my son’s fresh diaper before carrying him to his meal (my wife).  I’m ecstatic at his words, grateful for a new opportunity to exhibit. I don’t even stop to think about how I’m about to break another personal code, not of comedy, but of privacy. I’ve only been a parent for three weeks and without his permission I’ve already posted my baby’s face on instagram and, now, I’ve also shared his most private words with the largest internet audience in the world.² The only reason for my lack of discretion, if I had to guess, would be because I don’t have the time for the “creative” work through which I have trained myself to receive love. In lieu of that, I might as well get my fix through my son, to whom I have done nothing for three weeks but attend. 

¹chill out.

²the readers of Timbeaux’s Newsletter.

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All proceeds for this limited edition CACTUS IN A HAT merch go directly to the Transgender Law Center. Link here.

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here’s a draft of a lullaby I’m working on.

@timbeauxplattworking on a lullaby #lullaby #creek #nature #tree #newborn #acoustic

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Respectfully,

Tim