The obstacles that stand between my kids and me are so Byzantine that they often distract me from my prime objective: To resume the close relationship the three of us enjoyed in an atmosphere of stability and family history, such that we have left.
Imagine feeling impassioned enough to found a blog regarding a cause, then seldom discussing the very objects of that cause.
If it is not clear, I am cleaning up the residue of a sloppy divorce to reunite with my children. But who are these children? It is my pleasure to introduce them.
There is my nine-year old daughter. Her tiny body can scarcely contain the big personality that seeps through her veneer of shyness.
Like her older brother, she is blessed with almond shaped, expressive eyes framed by beautifully arched brows, their 20/20 windows on the world.
Her limbs are thin and gymnast-flexible, covered with tawny skin marred here and there by the faint scars of childhood.
Beneath this lies a rapier wit readily exposed in the most casual conversation. She usually delivers her keen observations in an energized, rapid-fire manner punctuated by the high pitch of her pixie-voice.
Then, there is my ten-year old son. Almost a larger twin to his sister, I can see that his hands and feet will be bigger than mine.
He is also initially shy, but once adjusted to an atmosphere, his gregarious nature is irrepressible.
He has a constructive mind, more likely to immerse himself in a video game or drawing than toss a baseball.
His eclectic interests consume him; he researches them thoroughly enough to speak eloquently of their histories and principle contributors.
He keeps his sources of motivation close to heart, but there is no mistaking when he is intrigued by a topic or project.
Each kid is so much more than these sketches. Together, our energies blend and we become greater than the sum of our parts. I admire and foster their bond, channeling arguments into frank, productive discussions of their differences, accentuating common interests and reminiscing about good times past.
I have to suppress thoughts of them to stay focused on the tasks at hand. There is so much to do before I can be for them the father I was before the split. Inexorably, I work my way toward that goal, but I worry about time. That they are already nine and ten is hard to accept. It seems like only weeks ago that I cut their umbilical cords.
Our situation dictates that we, at least temporarily, resign ourselves to being apart. They’re lucky in the sense that they have each other and though I am far from alone, I don’t have them.