I’m writing from the perspective of a father whose time with his son is replenishing, required, and longed for. When my son and I get together it’s as if our limbs have magically been restored after months without them. We drink from one another’s company, affection, tickles, stories, songs, kisses, hugs, and the simple sound of our hearts beating like two people standing at the shores of an oasis after going weeks without water. And so dropping everything, bailing on all work, and spending every waking moment of every day entirely together is easy. It’s a pleasure. We need it, and we revel in our time together.

This is not to say that my deepest fear of a 2,800 mile physical distance between my son and I has relegated my role in his life to that of a “fun uncle” has come true. It hasn’t. I am indeed my son’s father. We have things we work on, challenges, rules, tasks, chores, and all that comes with being six and needing limits, boundaries, routine, and orderliness. Naturally the first couple of days have, traditionally been spent simply by being together, and then we venture out into the world and see our friends, and whatever else we can find to do. This trip has been different. We spent the better part of the first week together in a deeply social mode. We had Christmas, dinner with Godparents, a third christmas with grandparents, a road trip to Los Angeles, Aunts and friends and people around all the time. My son navigated this traffic in style. There was a moment in LA when I thought that some testing was going to begin… he didn’t want to go anywhere, get dressed, or do anything… but we sent my hungry sister out to eat, and I meditated on my part in the conflict, and we were eating Pizza in a restaurant, laughing and glad to be out in the evening in no time. Once we got home we had a series of days where we simply stayed home. The huge outings of each day were to gather supplies. We made visual lists where I drew pictures of everything we were going to get or do, and my little man would consult the list to direct us on our journey. Once everything was done we would make our way home and put our packages away and collapse on the floor together as if getting groceries and laundry were the most difficult tasks in the world. We also began doing 10 pushups each every morning and every night before bed. The pure pleasure of our communion is more valuable to me than anything else in the world. It clicks the missing pieces of my heart into place and fills me with love, light, hope, and the sweet smell of my son’s hair.

I have had a few moments of reflection where I had to wonder about parents who don’t choose the luxury of time. Family lives who can’t stay home for two weeks, and not go to work… children who’s routines are full of school, and day care, babysitters, and after school care. Parents who work year round, and thus keep their children in school year round. The challenge of connection, friendship, boundaries, continued dialog, and the sort of relationship I have with my son would be so different if I had not made the sacrifices I have elected to make in my life. Granted, I don’t see myself having the resources to send my son to whatever college he wants to go to, or providing him with the security of a permanent home he can always return to, or even an automobile he can borrow… I’m a DJ, an electronic musician, a writer, a dreamer, a fool… But I can see that the love we share has built a self esteem which money can’t buy, and a confidence which no surrogate could instill in anyone.

So in spite of the benefits which my lifestyle afford me and my son, I have to consider the heroic and amazing talents of parents who do choose the middle ground. How you come home from such a long day at work and greet your children with all of your attention, all of your love, review their homework, make sure they are eating well, clean, bathed, and growing into the challenges which life in this world presents us all by the truckload is amazing to me. I find myself reflecting on my own parents, remembering things like “Life isn’t fair” and “too bad” and other repeated remarks which left me shut down, and sure I would never have children at all… wondering why I was ever born, and at times in my life wishing I hadn’t been. We all do the best we can… it’s true… that’s all we have to give… but in the end I have to wonder that we are as civilized as we are, that our species has survived.

I also know that not everyone is as sensitive as I am. Maybe it’s a life of work, parents who work, and the refuge of that routine in and of itself. Maybe. While I wouldn’t trade the time with my son, or any moment of the relationship we have for the financial rewards, or stability that those sorts of sacrifices provide, I do take my hat off and bow for those who have struggled and undertaken this full time role of parenting. In this world where it really takes more than two jobs to make ends meet for families who dream of owning a home, two cars, health insurance, providing a decent education, and having the things which the modern world prescribe to us it is simply amazing to me that it ever happens at all.

So my hat is off to you. You who lack the luxury of this steeping in relation with your children, but gain what money, order, and routine provide. How you part from your child in the morning, function at work, and reconnect with them at night with energy, joy and emotional health and well being I may never understand, but I do indeed stand in awe of you.