|synaptic disunion|

Monday, January 09, 2006

abandonment...

The house was dark, I was done with my breakfast and on the front porch waiting for both my ride, and the predicted snow. Sitting on the bench, there was a soft tap on the window behind my head. I turned, expecting to see my wife, telling me that my ride had called, but it wasn't her. It was our oldest son. He's six. His face was looking out of the darkness of the front living room, with a soft sort of sad grin on it. He was waving goodbye to me. He knew I was going to work. But I couldn't, not yet.

I got up and went back inside, called my work to tell them that I was running a little bit late, and sat and talked to my son for a while. I don't know why he was up early, he hasn't been sleeping well lately. He sat on the couch, under a blanket, and just looked at me as I'd sit down, then get up, pace around the room looking to see if my ride was there yet, then sit back down again. We talked about what he was going to do today, school, computer games, and just generally be six years old.

It was getting late, and I thought I might need to go ahead and go. Giving up on my ride, I got up, and he gave me the tightest hug and softest kiss he has in quite a while.

"I love you."

"I love you too dad."

"Be good for mom and your teacher today, ok?"

"Ok dad."

And I left. I walked outside just as my ride drove up. I got in, and glanced back at the front window of our living room. Framed in the darkness, I saw his face, and his hand waving at me...and his big eyes.

I know he wanted me to stay. He always does. He wanted me to stay and play all day long.

"I want you to play with me dad!"

"I know son, but I have to work sometime. You know that."

"I know."

It makes me sad sometimes. Sad that we don't get to spend as much time with out children as we'd like to. I'd be lying if I said I didn't crave adult conversation though. But there, in the darkness of the back of my mind, even while I'm fully engaged in things adult, things bigger than me, keeping this industry that I'm in flowing throughout the day, I'll see his face from time to time, filled with longing for my presence. I'll want to run to him and cast off this adult world of responsibility.

Maybe some days I should.

: toadman : at Monday, January 09, 2006 |

Comments:

A gem. Beautiful. And yes, you should. My kids used to love the days I would secret them out of school for "life-time". We would go to the beach or the zoo or just have a picnic in the living room. Or take off on one of our aimless drives looking for adventure that we called going to San Fransisco. I'm so glad we have those memories. Times of connection with our children, whether 6, 16 or 26 are the most important thing. How happy that you know that now, and not later as so many harried parents do.

# posted by

Twyla : 3:22 PM

You are such a good father. I knew you and your wife would be incredible parents.

# posted by

susan : 4:29 PM

Twyla,
Thanks. During the spring and summer, we do alot more outside time. We go to the beach up in Sandpoint, Idaho, or go to the park, or to the farms, or hiking around this beautiful area. During the winter, there's not as much to do, and things usually get busier. We do our best to find time to play with them, and play as a family too, playing board games or something.

# posted by

toadman : 8:47 PM

Thanks Susan,
There are days that I think we do a really crappy job, and other days I think we do pretty ok.
Today was one of the former...

# posted by

toadman : 8:48 PM

You are on the right track. The time with them goes so fast. And I guarantee that you'll never look back and say, sure I'd spent more time at work; sure wish I hadn't let my kids distract me. Sounds like you and your son have developed quite a communication.

# posted by

jb3ll3 : 10:05 AM

You're making me sad, but happy too. It's wonderful knowing our children want more of us. When they get it, the feeling is superb.

Me? I'm late for work every single day.

# posted by

peefer : 8:59 PM

I'm a Grandfather now, and even a Great-Grandfather. When I first read the title, "synaptic disunion", I decided to log on so that I could say something smart about your word choice.

Having read your post however, leads me to feel, with tears in my eyes, that a wise ass, you don't need. I'm proud to share the earth with you.

# posted by

Bay Views : 9:09 PM

Thanks jb3ll3 - Like I said earlier to someone else, some days I think we do ok, others I think we do pretty crappy. I hope I can maintain this level of communicatio with my kids forever...

# posted by

toadman : 9:11 PM

Peefer - you said it. It feels great. Esspecially when you come home and feel like crap, they are still happy to see you. Then they attack you and jump on you like there's no tomorrow. It's also like they think you don't have any lungs and they try to break your rib cage...but that's a whole other feeling.

heh..

# posted by

toadman : 9:13 PM

Hey there Bay Views - thanks for coming by. But you might be wrong, I often need a wise ass, because I often am one...just not here. I "feel" more here, if you know what I mean.

I'm not sure why I named this blog synaptic disuion, I just did.. perhaps my brain just wasn't very "together" on the whole name thing...

heh...

see?

# posted by

toadman : 9:15 PM