I sit here alone again tonight, missing my school-age children, wondering what they’re doing without me. I count the days. Four more until I get to see them again, but only for a few hours after school. And because of a quirk of events, I haven’t seen them for seven. 11 days between visits. A third of a month. Not a powerful way to be a father. My children are fatherless.
Listening to this TED talk reminds me I’m not alone. I want to be an MRA, a men’s rights activist.
Last weekend was my weekend, spent with my two youngest. It was one of those “down” weekends when I felt like the loser father that I am, missing the long quality unpressured hours I used to have with my children and being at the crossroads of their lives.
A few days before I had received some leftover T-shirts from work, some extra large ones that would be good only as pajama shirts. I gave them to my kids, with extras for my other kids and my ex. An hour later my son sent me a video of him curling up in the shirt like a crab, legs and arms coming out of the arms holes, causing laughs and giggles from my other children and my ex. I felt like a sad fly on the wall of a family life and home I used to be part of.
But here I sit a few days later, remembering two things my kids did. Perhaps I do have an effect on my children.
Over the past few months, when there’s not much time left in an evening visit and their homework is done, we’ll turn to Amazon Prime and watch the next episode of the TV series Monk. It gives us a good laugh as we sit around my computer monitor.
As we start up an episode, my 16-year-old daughter gets up out of her chair, cuddles up next to me, and says,” Dad, I sure love you!” I returned the expression of love, impressed that she’d make that extra effort.
Before she did this, my 14-year-old son, while making popcorn for the show, said several times, “I love you, Dad!”
I can’t think of what elicited these comments.
These thoughts came because this evening as I got home to my empty apartment, I turned on my favorite podcast while I pulled together a bite to eat. It’s mostly a political commentary, but this fellow often ends with some uplifting spiritual, family, or positive comment. He starts telling about fishing with his five-year-old son last weekend. They were gone for several hours. They caught nothing. As they wrapped up, his son said, “Dad! I want to be a great fisherman like you someday.”
His son was saying he loved his dad and loved his time.
One of my daughters returned from her mission in January. As with my returning boys, it was a hard time because coming to an end were the weekly emails and communication. Now our communication would be relegated to an occasional visit as she began school and work, and text messages when we could. My youngest grade school children mentioned my daughter was dating, and had even gone from Utah to Idaho to visit a young man she’d met on her mission, and had brought a young man to dinner at her mother’s. My heart sank that I was missing out on some of the most important events of a young woman’s life. More than sadness, I even felt a little anger.
I’ve heard it said that a father is naturally the protector of his children, evidenced by some of the wording of The Family–A Proclamation to the World. How can a father with this natural desire, this heavenly mandate, and fatherly priesthood responsibility, deal with the emotions of being kept from his children and being their protector?