We are busy. My wife is employed in the restaurant industry, where she will work until 2 a.m. one day then return at 6 a.m. the next. Technically, it is the same day. It is all the same something. It is all a blur.
She can go days without seeing the boys awake. They are sleeping when she leaves for work. They are sleeping when she comes home. She passes her shadow in the hallway. It is dark. It is quiet.
I am up before the sun. There are meetings with day-lit time zones. There is work to be done. There are deadlines to be met.
This should have been done hours ago.
At 6:45 the boys get up. The soundtrack starts. I make breakfast. I pack lunches. We make small talk about big things. They go to school and I go to my desk. The coffee is strong and constant.
Eventually, the sun sets.
The night is for practice, homework and lessons. There is volunteering and meetings with time zones that have an ocean between us.
There is music playing. The TV is on. The dog wants out again.
Tonight was back-to-school night for the 7th grader. My wife and I both attended, the boys at home ignoring their chores and making assumptions for dinner.
We were all bound for disappointment.
Rather than walking in the door with our curries stuffed in a sack, we brought a plan of divide and conquer. My wife took the oldest into the kitchen, handed him a frying pan, and together they prepared our meal. I met our youngest halfway to excuses, his backpack still zipped, his assignments a secret best not discussed in polite company, or whatever passes for it.
We went over his homework. We talked about why it hadn’t been done. Topics swung to responsibility and back again, his backpack opening, a breath of fresh air and a slow exhale.
Dinner was served by the kid who made it. Then we sat down and ate together.
It may not have been much, as far as time is concerned. It was fleeting as a stereotype, but we seized it all the same. Time, it turns out, doesn’t always make itself available when you have time for it.
Our life is probably no different than yours. Or maybe it is. It’s not a competition. And things will slow down again. Life will stretch. We all grow. I only hope we know it at the time.
The takeaway, in my experience, is to take chances where you can. Maybe we listen to a book together on a long car ride. Perhaps we find two hours on a Saturday to do a puzzle on the table. Sometimes the grocery store can be a family outing. Keep the conversation moving.
Time hides under rocks and bed sheets. Coax it out with love and honey.
For instance, it is late. The house is a hum of saxophone bending around the corners. The lights are out. I know that 6:45 will arrive far too early as it always does, and I’ll catch time then, hovering above a 12-year-old boy with no desire to meet it. I’ll hold him close, a dozen years in warm embrace, and I will sing the song I always sing. I will sing it until he smiles, and then his brother will hear the same. It is my favorite time of day, and the only way to start it.
We are busy, and we are so very tired, but time certainly has its moments.
This post is in partnership with Responsibility.org as part of their Ask, Listen, Learn campaign. Our collective mission is speaking to kids about underage drinking and to promote responsible decision-making regarding the consumption of alcohol. It is a good cause.
If you would like to learn more (also, ask and listen) about underage drinking please connect with Responsibility.org and Ask, Listen, Learn on social media:
Facebook – @GoFAAR @AskListenLearn
Twitter – @goFAAR @AskListenLearn
Instagram – @go_faar @Ask_Listen_Learn
Whit Honea is the co-founder of Dads 4 Change and the Social Media Director of Dad 2.0 Summit. Deemed “the activist dad” by UpWorthy (and one of the “funniest dads on Twitter” by Mashable), he is a regular contributor to The Washington Post, The Modern Dads Podcast and author of The Parents’ Phrase Book—a practical guide to social and emotional learning. Whit was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. He is the 2015 winner of the Iris Award for Best Writing.
