One year ago I returned from a nine day sojourn in Bangkok. My daughter (Bailey) had been born two months earlier on April Fools’ Day and by early June it seemed like the joke was on me. The general consensus among every man I know is that the birth of their first child was the happiest day of their lives. For better or worse, that was not the case with me. The happiest, most gratifying day of my life was having my first book published and seeing it on the shelves of every bookstore in Bangkok. Some have argued that having a traditionally published book is analogous to having a child. I wouldn’t go that far. Nevertheless, the gestation period of a book does require a certain amount of nurturing and the hope is that it’s born healthy. In my mind, that’s where the analogy ends. When my book was published, I was finished with it. Granted, there were a few days of post-partum blues but, those are readily extinguished upon starting a new book. Contrary to the advice of experts, I’ve rarely spent any time & effort marketing my books. They’re excellent productions and I’m very proud of them all. For the most part, I’ve relied upon ‘word of mouth’ to generate sales. Unfortunately, whatever fans I have are either speech impaired or downright mute.

Unlike a book, most of the time & effort required to deal with a child begins with its publication. That was my problem. During the first couple of months after Bailey was born I felt more as if I’d lost a wife; not gained a daughter. As I’ve mentioned before, my wife (Nak) adores me almost as much as I adore her. I’d enjoyed a maverick existence for most of my life…went where I wanted when I wanted and did as I pleased. In short, I was fancy free and free for anything fancy. Then Bailey happened upon the scene. I became increasingly resentful of the fact that Bailey had hijacked my wife’s attentions and affections which had hitherto been devoted to me. I’d been upstaged by a blind, whining and helpless protoplasm who was completely ignorant of Hegel & Kant, Van Gogh & Monet, Fred Astaire & Cole Porter…not to mention the Chicago Cubs. I had become so exasperated that for one entire day I refused to look at her. The next day I realized it was time for me to hit the boulevard. Less than a week later I flew to Bangkok and holed up in a cheap hotel amidst the sleazy environs of Patpong 2.

I had breakfast every morning at McDonald’s and spent the rest of the day riding around town on the sky-train with an occasional stop at a shopping mall to purchase various items for my wife & daughter. By 5PM I was back in my room with a six-pack of beer and a Subway sandwich. During the next four hours I drank beer, munched on the sandwich and scribbled a bunch of fractured musings into a notebook. The focus of those musings concerned the dramatically altered state of affaires that fatherhood was compelling me to confront. Bailing out of the situation was never a consideration. The only viable option was to think positive, accept the status quo and make the best of it.

Two evenings of bar-hopping with an old friend of mine helped the cause. Jerry Hopkins is an accomplished journalist who wrote many stories for The Rolling Stone Magazine and has published nearly forty books. The most notable of those books is a biography of Jim Morrison entitled, No One Here Gets Out Alive. It is a well written account of a talented young man who, otherwise, comes across as a self-centered, spoiled brat. When I mentioned that to Jerry, he said that the more he learned about Morrison the more he agreed with my assessment.

Jerry and I have known each other for twenty years during which time we drank many beers while cruising the seedy go-go joints of Bangkok. Despite having enjoyed those escapades, I’d been out of that game for a decade and was reminded why on our recent forays. Quite simply, it bored the hell out of me. There was no way I was going to resume that routine. So, I spent most nights in my room trying to think positive and writing in the damn notebook.

On my return to Phnom Penh, I was greeted with open arms by Nak who immediately informed me that Bailey could see. As soon as the little rascal heard my voice, she perked up, looked at me with her big, beautiful blue eyes and welcomed me home with the most rapturous smile I’d ever seen. Corny as it may sound, that smile and her new found sight inspired me to see what a wonderful life was in front of me…not only my daughter’s life but, my own. To a certain extent, we all write our own book comprised of events which we cause to happen or happen to us. Many, if not most, of the important events have been experienced by Mankind since Human Beings first took the stage. What distinguishes one book from another is the style and integrity that impregnates it. Based upon what I’ve seen of the first chapter, Bailey’s book is destined to be a masterpiece. All credit for that goes to her editor, the Maxwell Perkins of our child’s ‘book’, my wife.