Seeing Oslo with Colin

          It’s astounding how, three years after his death, Colin managed to pop up so often while I was in Oslo.  I wasn’t planning to bring him.  I wasn’t planning to not bring him.  My focus was getting some training so I could do my job better.  My personal life was supposed to be secondary.  And yet … there he was.

            I had about four days in Oslo and I was booked until 4 p.m. most days, so my Oslo experience was mostly trekking around the city as dusk crept up on us.  A lot of the time was spent marveling at how many people were still eating outdoors, despite it being nearly zero, and how I could walk for hours and hours and not see a single McDonald’s or Starbucks (which I think is a good thing, I’m just so used to seeing these stores every five steps that it’s kind of unnerving when they’re suddenly absent).

            On the second night, I went through the downtown and, after passing through the government quarter, realized I had 45 minutes until dinner and that the cemetery where Edvard Munch is buried was right in front of me.  That took me onto a fun diversion, because the path from the cemetery to the restaurant took me through this truly charming tiny neighborhood – calling it a ‘neighborhood’ is actually kind of inflationary – of old, 18^th century wooden homes that were truly beautiful but which also left me as a homeowner wondering how on Earth you can keep them heated during the Norwegian winter without bankrupting yourself.  Still, it was a nice five-minute walk, marveling that these houses were still standing, right in the middle of Oslo, and clearly occupied.  The Norwegians seem to be a trusting people who don’t batten down the hatches, letting people like me peek in as they wander through.  I finished the neighborhood and felt truly good about things.

            Then I took three more steps and crossed paths with a restaurant named “Chez Colin.”

            It’s not where I was headed and there was nothing particularly obnoxious about the restaurant.  Whoever this Colin was, I have no problem with him having a restaurant named after him.  It shouldn’t even get to me.  I am aware of multiple people named Colin, from friends to relatives to celebrities.  But something about going from this tourist high of finding old-time Norway in the middle of Oslo to a restaurant with my son’s name felt like a slap.

            The night before, I’d had far too much to drink and told two colleagues, who are near strangers, about Colin.  They said all the right things.  That night, after passing Chez Colin, I had dinner with more colleagues.  Sitting right next to two people whom I’ve told about Colin, a third person asked how many kids I have and, without missing a beat, I said “three,” because I didn’t want to get into it in a noisy restaurant with people I barely know.  The one guy who knew caught my eye, and I know he knew what I had done.  Another guy who had no idea said “Three?  That’s a squadron!”

            I look at these incidents and, intellectually, I realize they’re not that big of a deal.  It’s not as if I moved mountains.  But, in the moment, I feel like I’m pushing through quicksand.  But then there are moments where I feel like I’m handling well.  But does obscuring the truth about how many children actually live in my home right now a sign that I’m learning to cope with it all and, if so, should I be happy that I’m coping with it?  I still want to be a mess on so many levels.  It feels like I would be honoring Colin more if I just fell apart.  And yet I go on.

            On my final full day in Oslo, I went out to Vigeland Park, which has a series of sculptures by Gustav Vigeland.  I’ll admit: I went for the quirky thrill, because most tour guides of Oslo will tell you to go there to see his statue of a man being attacked by babies, which did look hysterical on the websites.

            A couple of things I realized after I found the statues.

            – They’re a lot smaller than I thought

            – There were a ton more than I expected

            – While the baby sculpture was kind of funny, and there were definitely a few offbeat statues, many more of them seemed to focus on family. 

            There were definitely statues of mothers playing or interacting with their children, but I was drawn to the ones with the fathers.  Playing, protecting, sheltering their kids.  It got to me.  These statues have been there for decades watching their offspring.  I only got to do it for five years with Colin and it didn’t end well.  And, while I was doing that, I didn’t have the time to do the things I want to do as a father with Emma and Noah.  Perhaps, if I had been expecting this kind of look at parenthood, I’d have been primed.  Going in expecting offbeat statuary, it took me a few minutes to process.

            There’s another famous statue there of an angry baby.  I will admit, it’s kind of charming because it’s funny to see a statue of such an angry baby, and it looks so much like a baby having a bad moment.  You can’t really decide if you should try to console the baby or have a knowing chuckle at its expense.  It’s one of the most popular ones, as you can tell from the discoloration of his hand (and his penis) from all the tourists who have touched it.

            But I was more drawn to the one across the bridge.  It was a slightly older child (and I think a girl), but this one was happy and, if you didn’t worry about every detail, looked kind of like Colin.  I was happy it was happy.  I was happy pretending that, maybe, there’s a version of Colin that gets to be in Oslo for eternity just being happy.

            I don’t know where my next trip is going to take me, but I’m at least now prepared for the fact that I’ll probably have to be ready to have Colin with me.  It’ll be good.  In many ways, he’s a great travel companion.