66,000 Miles

I'm back from a slightly elongated weekend with my kids in Maine. I got in late Friday night, picked them up from my son's karate class early Saturday morning as usual, and stayed through this morning to attend a conference at his school (more on that later). There was nothing special about the weekend--it's just routine at this point. Here's a rundown of this, a "typical" weekend spent alone with my kids.

FRIDAY
10:30pm Arrive in Portland
11:15pm Arrive at motel

SATURDAY
8:00am Karate (the boy)
9:00am Dunkin' Donuts break
10:00am Dance (the girl)
11:30am Lunch--hot dogs and fries
1:00pm Swim at indoor pool at hotel
3:30pm Showers and baths
4:00pm Kids jumping on the bed while I try to rest
4:30pm Computer games (boy) and Cartoon Network (girl)
5:30pm Dinner at Japanese/Chinese restaurant (my son loves sushi!)
7:00pm Watch Netflix movie on my computer
8:30pm Bedtime

SUNDAY
6:00am Boy wakes up and goes straight to computer
7:00am Girl wakes up and goes straight to TV
7:30am Breakfast in hotel
8:00am Boy plays with Rubik's Cube, girl makes me a bead necklace
9:00am Swim at indoor pool
11:00am Showers and baths
12:00pm Peanut butter sandwiches and cupcakes at Portland Market House
1:30pm Childrens' Museum of Maine (their idea...I was going to take them to the movies)
5:00pm Carry sleeping girl up to hotel room, boy reads Super Diaper Baby 2 book
6:00pm Take girl back to Mom's house (I wanted a boys' night)
6:00pm-6:20pm Girl complains about wanting Mommy, boy tells her that she's on her way there (good for him!)
6:20pm I make girl hug me while still in car before she runs off to Mom
6:30pm Different Japanese restaurant with boy (he demanded sushi again)
7:30pm Semi-successful attempt at serious conversation with boy
7:35pm More computer games
8:30pm Bedtime

MONDAY
6:00am Boy wakes up and goes straight to computer
6:15am I grudgingly wake up and take a quick shower
6:25am Pack up things from around the room
6:30am I break the zipper on boy's backpack trying to cram it shut
6:31am Boy has meltdown about broken zipper
6:32am I try to tell him that it's OK and promise him that I'll buy him a new backpack if I can't fix it
6:40am Breakfast in hotel
7:05am I manage to fix the zipper well enough for him to use the backpack
7:20am Leave to drop boy at school
7:45am Drop him at school and resist temptation to hug him in front of other kids
7:50am Coffee break
8:30am Conference with Vice Principal, Special Ed teachers and his teacher confirming that he doesnt need special ed, just extra accommodations in class for his Asperger's related behavior
9:30am Leave school
10:00am Return to airport in Portland

Some might say that I packed more of the good, quality time that a father should be spending with his children over the course of several weeks into 48 hours, and that I should be proud of myself for being such a devoted father. Perhaps, but my underlying emotion throughout the whole process is a slowly simmering anger at the fact that I have to live like this.

I wish I had the luxury to go about my business in my own home while blithely ignoring my children while they go about their business. That just isn't possible when we haven't seen each other for several weeks and then are shoehorned into a hotel room for a weekend. I can't just tell them that I want to read a book or that I've got chores to do. From their perspective, I must be off doing those things (or whatever it is that I do when I'm not with them) all the time, and I came all the way to Maine to see them, so they'll have my full attention during the brief time that I'm there. It's very different from when they've been with me at my approximiations of "home" in Maryland and Georgia, when there is a whole house to occupy and other people in the vicinity.

I have to admit that, in spite of my overwhelming and boundless love for my children, it just feels all wrong spending time with them the way that I just did. It's like we went somewhere on vacation, but the only thing we did on vacation was hang around the hotel and go out for dinner. There were no sights to see, no thrills to be had, and no dear friends to visit--just the three of us with a whole weekend to kill in a place that will forever reek of depression and betrayal to me. I long to whisk them away to some other place far away from Maine and give them that sort of experience, but it's just not possible given the many restrictions on my life.

And out of this whole experience, there are three images that stick with me the most, all of which just raise my simmering anger up to a rolling boil. First, my daughter, now almost 4.5, said her first words that indicate some feeling about the divorce other than blind acceptance when she told me, "Daddy, I wish you and mommy were still married to each other." The poor kid had just turned two when her mother threw me overboard--she doesn't even remember that I ever lived with her. She had never before expressed anything of this sort, but now that it's out of the bag, it's clear that no child, no matter how young, escapes from divorce fully intact.

Second, in my attempt to have a serious conversation with my nearly eight-year old son, he told me with complete earnestness (that's his only mode) "I want to tell someone in Maine that you need a job here so they can hire you and you can come back." It just took that one sentence for me to recognize that, while he no longer complains about me being away like he did two years ago, he would be much happier if he could see me all the time. I can't describe what an awful feeling I got from hearing those words, however sweet his intentions may have been.

Finally, there's the image of my ex-wife sitting next to me in the school conference room, looking worn and world-weary, faking her way through acting like a responsible parent in front of a room full of people who are keenly aware that she is a complete psychopath. I have to believe at this point that I will truly never, ever fully get over what I let her do to me. She may be poor, miserable, and devoid of friends or close family relationships, but she still continues to possess the only thing in the world that truly has any value to me: my children.

And now I've dumped all of this poison out of me. But I'll be going back for more next month, and countless more times for years to come, because the alternative is just unthinkable. I know that all good parents make sacrifices, but it burns me up that I have to sacrifice so much just to be able to enjoy a typical weekend with my own children.

65,000 Miles, holding pattern

I have nothing profound to say right now, but I have to say something, so I'll let Paul Simon say it for me.

"And I know a father
Who had a son
He longed to tell him all the reasons
For the things he'd done.
He came a long way
Just to explain
He kissed his boy as he lay sleeping
Then he turned around and headed home again.
He slip slided.
Slip slidin' away.
You know the nearer your destination
The more you're slip slidin' away."

In my course of making sure that I had gotten that lyric correct, I discovered that there was a "missing" verse from one of Mr. Simon's greatest songs, The Boxer. Somehow this fits today:

"Now the years are rolling by me
They are rockin' evenly
I am older than I once was
And younger than I'll be and that's not unusual.
No it isn't strange
After changes upon changes
We are more or less the same
After changes we are more or less the same."

The point is that I'm still me. After all I've been through, I'm still the 15 year old kid went walking in the desert outside of Tucson, Arizona singing Doors songs to myself and dreaming about designing home for myself in the foothills of the Santa Catalina mountains. I still want to spend my Saturdays playing basketball all day long until I drop. I still expect mystery and opportunity around every corner, and know for certain that life will be an adventure once I leave my hometown and never look back. I still want to use my intelligence, energy, and sense of humor to make a fun and rewarding life for myself. I still want to be the best dad ever, laughing and smiling with my children each day.

So how is it that I'm sitting here at age 38 in my parents' basement with the two loves of my life, my kids, hundreds of miles away, and my wife hundreds of miles away in the other direction, with a job that, in spite of its promise, is depressing because I know it's my only ticket out of a lifetime of struggles, and no hope of ever having even any semblance at all of the life I wanted? I know that few people truly realize their dreams, but I never thought that I'd this dead end at such a young age, when it has already become clear to me that my joys in this world will be small ones, restricted to isolated moments when I can allow myself to forget about my failures.

Will I ever get the chance to explain myself to my children? If I do, will I just kiss them on their foreheads while they're asleep and walk away? Perhaps that's enough for them. Perhaps they really do know how much I love them and how sick I am that my life has become what it is. Perhaps they understand that it was their mother who pushed me out the door and created conditions under which I had no choice but to leave their little town to get my life back in order.

Either way, it's little comfort to me. After changes I am more or less the same, and the person that I am at my core is sick and disgusted of this life I'm living and completely at a loss about how to improve it. I'm resuming couseling this week, but I am already certain that the fifth person I'm seeing is going to do any more than the first four did, which is to tell me "wow, that's a tough situation," and "you have to fake it 'til you make it."

Cue Mr. Simon:

"I know I'm fakin' it
I'm not really makin' it
This feeling of fakin' it-
I still haven't shaken it."

65,000 Miles (approximately)

I'm guessing that it's been 6,000 miles since the last entry, but I've been on so many trips that I don't care to calculate it, so I'm estimating. I drove up to the DC area to move for my job. I went to Long Island for a wedding. I flew up to Maine for a weekend with my kids. I went down to Atlanta for a weekend with my wife. I flew up to Maine to retrieve my kids, brought them back to Maryland and spent a great week after Christmas with them, then returned them and came back home. In between my wife came to DC for the weekend so we could go house hunting. I probably missed a trip or two, but that's why I'm estimating.

Meanwhile...

I'm working 5 days a week at a job that is a brutal commuting distance from my parents' house (where I'm staying)--it takes 90 minutes each way unless I leave by 6:15am or return by 3:00pm--and I have to attend frequent nighttime and weekend meetings and events for the job.

My almost 8 year-old son has been diagnosed with Asperger's disorder and is having uncontrollable fits about not being able to stop wetting the bed.

My 4 year-old daughter won't ever talk on the phone to me, although I take some heart in that she won't talk to her mother on the phone when she's with me.

My ex-wife got married to the alcoholic bastard who drove drunk with my child in his car.

I have seen listings for two good jobs in Maine that would pay well and allow me to be near my kids, but I have not applied. On the one hand I was miserable up there and have no desire to go back. On the other hand I have told my kids a million times that the only reason I left was because I needed to find a job. I feel like a liar and a horrible person for not jumping on these jobs, but I just really don't want to go in reverse like that.

My father has been diagnosed with an aggressive terminal illness and probably won't live another year. It's nice to be with my parents, but it's heartbreaking watching him fade away before my eyes. It's also terrible that my mother, who just retired two years ago, is now stuck being the full-time caregiver for him, as he can't dress, shower, go on stairs or even eat without help anymore.

I am so tired and overwhelmed by life that I can't even motivate myself to do simple things like read a book, exercise, or make plans with friends. Most nights I just come home from work, eat too much food (my mom loves to overstuff me), collapse on the couch, and maybe talk to my wife on the phone, and then go to bed and do it all again.

* * *

I try to tell myself that much of this is temporary. My wife and stepdaugher are still on course to move here in May, and we've determined that we can afford a nice three-bedroom townhouse in a good school district that will drop my commute to 20 minutes. My kids will be there with us in our new home for 6 weeks next summer. My dad will probably be gone and my mother will get her life back, and will even be able to watch the kids for us. I'm getting my career back on track--my job is going well, and I am certain that it can lead me to better things. My kids are growing up and I won't feel as horrible about going slightly longer stretches without seeing them. Eventually they'll be able to fly on airplanes without me, which will make it far easier to get them to where I am.

But I still can't get my need to be with my kids out of my system. Every day they were here last week was a joy for me, albeit a joy tempered by being exhausted. It was particularly great when my wife and stepdaughter came up for three days, which was the first time since August that we had all been together. By day two the girls were wearing their matching princess dresses and calling each other "sis." I'm flying up to see my kids in Maine at the end of the month, and will go again for my son's birthday in March. I may even go in February for a long weekend.

The point is, as expensive and difficult as it may be to go there so much, I can't justify not going there. I've got the money now, as I am earning a good salary and saving a lot by living with my parents. I've got the time, as I am mostly bored when I'm here on weekends by myself. And the flights are much shorter and less expensive than they were from Atlanta. I've also gotten over the fear of "what are we going to do?" when I go up there. It's still exhausting being cooped up in a hotel room with them, but they've gotten used to the routine and we always find ways to fill up the time. The best part is that they don't, as they did when I first became The Frequent Father, ask to go back to Mommy's house after a few hours in a hotel. They seem to have gotten used to the idea that this is how things are, and they seem to be OK with it.

* * *

When I started writing this post 25 minutes ago I felt like crap. Now I feel much better. I know that I have to write more often. It's all about the release.