Summertime Godfather’s Carnival Ride

Eric Griggs
2 min readAug 21, 2021
Screenshot of a partial SMS message between two friends. Q:“Hey man are you and Lisa taking Bethany off to college tomorrow?” A: “Tuesday”

My SMS response started out as prose, just me relating to my good friend as best I could, no thought of “creating” anything but conversation.

“I imagine this weekend for you must be kinda like the big pause before diving into a swimming pool or ripping off a bandaid.
I’ve never imagined myself in that role . . . closest I’ve ever come might’ve been taking my friend H to the DMV to get her driver’s license.”

. . . suddenly a brass-knuckled muse, Calliope, seized hold of my neck and Bam! We were off the rails, off the chain, off the charts:

“A celebratory cocktail flavored with the enormous satisfaction of
loved ones achieving a major milestone, taken with a gut-punch chaser of generalized anxiety. On the table: a brand new shrink-wrapped campaign module, a hidden roster of upcoming NPCs with which to contend, and the roller coaster of hopes and fears that is every new shake of the dice.

Summertime. Rollercoaster screams: simultaneous horror and ecstasy, voluntarily peril at the carefully-set brink of disaster -- or at least we hope so.

Yesterday, the scent of diaper wipes and baby lotion — just now a fat lungful of kettle corn and funnel cakes. Up ahead, the perfume of roses and baby’s breath.

Father. Father of the bride. What? Why yes, I suppose so -- grand father.

XPs tallied and recorded in every electrum strand. Stand tall, graybeard . . . or Godfather?

You could try to get out . . . but we both know it’s an offer you simply can’t refuse.”

Muses. Can’t live with ’em. Can’t feed ’em from the kid’s menu.

small cube-shaped “beads” with the letter E engraved on each face



Eric Griggs

Juxtaposeur, technical analyst, process engineer, poet wordsmith, INTJ, Anansi, MBTI certified practitioner & team-builder, certifiable fabulist & Uppity Queer™