Father and Son
A week with my son is drawing to a close. He has introduced me to his favorite songs, singing hooks over and over and over. He has really taken to the Beatles, especially favoring I’ll follow the sun. It’s kind of a sad song. There is a son in song. No, just imagining that. Our conversations are nuanced enough that he distinguishes between SUN and SON. He corrected me several times. I was happy he noticed.
One day, you’ll look, To see I’ve gone…
Last night he wiped tears on my arm. “What are you doing?”
“I want you to know I am sad.”
Yeah. Yeah, I know. I didn’t need tears or snot on my arm to know.
“What’s that on your arm?” he asked, aiming for playful.
Love.
Big Questions, No Child Appropriate Answers
“Why can’t I live in Texas with you?” Because I work and mother is a full time parent. Also, you eat better with her because she is a four star level chef. I am only good for eggs over easy, waffles, and grilled cheese. Because she loves you.
“Well, why can’t she live here with you and me.” I really don’t have a good answer for this, not one that doesn’t serve some of my own failings and self-deprecating thoughts. The not fun, anti Joan Rivers joking self-deprecating kind. I am a good dad, not a good husband. Not a good husband is a bad statement. It fails to capture the…
