|
Mar 6, 2003 When my 15-year-old son was quite young, I began mentally recording his age in a unique way. I would calculate his age as a fraction of the age he would reach when he started college. This was my way of reminding myself how quickly he was growing up. By the time he was three it was a shock to realize one out of his six childhood segments were complete, and only five more of the same length remained. The legendary rush of children growing up was a tale I had heard about long before my son was born. A desire to avoid missing out on my son's childhood, as well as my wife's regular reminders to me to stay involved, kept me focused on his life from birth. A near tragedy just before my son's first birthday further solidified my focus. One day in the summer of 1988 he developed a high fever. Within days he was hospitalized, eventually to be diagnosed with an ominous form of pneumonia call Legionaire's Disease. When he almost died, I was grateful for the time I had spent with him. When he lived, I knew there was little of more importance than being involved in his life. So we spent countless hours together playing childhood games. Ironically, many of those hours were given by me reluctantly or half- heartedly. Certainly I was committed to the cause, but I found my personality getting in the way. Mine was one that easily tired of childhood games. Playing with him was work for me. But I guess my less-than-perfect attitude didn't matter much to my son. One request spilled time and again from his lips: "Daddy, will you play with me?" And most of the time, I answered, "Yes." As years passed our family grew. We added another boy, four years after our first. Another four years saw the addition of a daughter, followed by another girl a year and a half later. What I thought had been a busy life with only one child, with four became crowded beyond belief. And somewhere along the way, something disappeared. The sad part is I didn't even notice when it happened. But one day while looking back on my life, I realized it was gone. My son was no longer asking, "Will you play with me, Daddy?" I couldn't blame him for giving up. How many times recently had I felt the need to say, "Not right now." It wasn't that I never played with him, but the times when I did had become far too infrequent. When I discovered the disappearance, I pondered what I could do to bring his question back; I pondered in vain. The responsibilities of raising four children made it impossible to dote over one. I did my best to force more space into our lives to give more attention to each of our kids. It never seemed to me like I was giving enough, but I did my best to spend with them what time I could afford. Today I stand at the other end of my older son's childhood. At fifteen, instead of his having lived only one out of his six childhood segments, he only has one out of six to go. Miraculously my son and I are still close. Even though he has reached that age where most kids want their parents to fade into the background of their lives, he still likes having me around. And since the younger kids have gotten a little older, the demands on my time have settled down. Often I am able to join my son and his friends in a game of street hockey or basketball. And I didn't realize it when it happened, but his question came back into our lives. It's not a constantly present companion, the way it used to be, but it makes frequent appearances: "Dad, will you be able to play hockey this afternoon?" Looking back on my years as a father, I have many regrets. With only a little effort I could write a list of them as long as my arm. But one thing has grown clear. Although sometimes I invested it reluctantly or half- heartedly, the time I spent with my son, because it molded his character and buttressed our relationship, has become a purchase that leaves me no regrets. It has only returned a mountain of wealth in my heart. Life offers all kinds of interesting activities in which I would like to participate. And maybe some day there will be time to engage in more of them. For now I want to be sure to spend plenty of time in my kids' lives. The satisfaction of that investment is pure gold. About the author: Pepe is a writer, whose day job as a software engineer keeps him from writing as much as he wants. His work has appeared in several magazines and periodicals. His take on life sometimes gets him a little out of step with the rest of society, but he keeps marching in the parade. You can reach him at wrob@usa.com. ------------ Comment on this column in the forum. ------------ |
||||||
|
|
|||||||
|
