Eric at the Children's Park

The Children's Grand Park in Seoul is a huge, sprawling green space built to encompass rolling hills, a pond and numerous attractions. It was once a commercial enterprise but has since been made free by the local civic government and, as a result, enjoyed tremendous success.

Last Saturday, we visited together. Just Eric and I. One of Eric's friends was tentatively scheduled to accompany us, but was not feeling well that morning. So it was just Eric and daddy and a few thousand other families that we hardly noticed.

The only negative point was that the ride there was a little long and a bit of an ordeal for him. Eric spent the 30-40 minutes writhing on the floor and burying his head in the fold of the backseat to make the time go faster. He was mostly impatient. I would not say his enthusiasm was particularly dimmed. (Remember to do a post ranking the different modes of transportation with Eric. Hint: taxi, last.)

On a day that Eric enjoyed to the point of midday exhaustion, I'll be honest, the park did all the work. I had only mildly hyped the event beforehand, more as a chance to do something together with his friend Johan than for the place itself, but Eric was thoroughly enthralled and engaged the whole time.

I could pretend to be cynical but these places have their obvious infinite appeal for children that cannot be muted by location, over-crowding, expense or manipulative design.

I feel the entrance is always a big moment in coming to a place like the Grand Park. I remember with singular clarity my own majestic feeling entering the grounds whenever my father would bring us somewhere like the P.N.E. fairgrounds or on our sole family trip to Disneyland. It's enjoyable for me to watch Eric at these moments.

Often he will simply echo the enthusiasm I have rehearsed in preparing for these events and say something grandiose like, "It's beautiful!" or "I love this place." This day, a balloon stand caught his eye and he made sure to negotiate with me regarding a future impending purchase, all the while keenly and quietly absorbing the atmosphere of barely restrained excitement. It seemed to me that he was behaving like a veteran, having twice visited the park before.

We proceeded from the front gate past the pond and fountain to the Adventure Land playground, a variously themed collection of slides, forts, swings and play structures. We took a break after he had broken into a nice sweat and enjoyed sandwiches for lunch, while feeding pigeons with bird seed from home. Remember to do a post on feeding birds.

After lunch, we walked to the zoo and talked about why certain animals were chosen for inclusion while others were not. Actually, I know I missed an opportunity to engage his curiosity a little more by the daddy trick of answering the question instead of having a discussion. Bad daddy.

Finally, we made it to the amusement park where Eric played in the Inflatable Playground, rode a mechanical puppy and we circled the grounds together on the Sky Cycle and the Mini-Train. As we awaited our turn on the Bumper Boats, Eric fell asleep in my arms.

What else is there to say? Parenting can be so easy sometimes. You just need to remember not to nag too much, pack a lunch, use sunscreen, and give 10-minutes notice before you move. The 10-minute warning is crucial. It teaches negotiation skills which can later be applied to balloon purchases.

Eric's Bowling Evolution

Obviously, I am not good at this "regularly updating" thing. So much has happened that I've intended to transcribe but for now... this will have to do. Maybe posting with fewer words will help me to post more regularly.

Eric has been hooked on bowling ever since we took him for his first visit. As he's grown, his technique has improved and his ambition has soared.

Here's a sample of Eric's early form. I have this saved on my phone to play whenever I turn it on. As you can imagine, keeping the ball out of the gutter is always a formidable challenge.

Knocking down pins is thus a healthy cause for celebration. A good time for an appreciative audience to celebrate Eric's athletic achievements. However, watching these videos, I can't help but also wonder about the growth of the internal athlete. How is bowling helping to develop his character?

My simple wish is that bowling, like any sport, can offer Eric a kind of practical meditation or opportunity for reflection. There is the further hope, of course, that he will not become overly enthralled by the two false idols of success or failure and begin to consider how bowling is teaching him to focus, perform, aspire and to handle both disappointment and success.

Disappointment.

Success.

And finally, congratulations, son, on that recent seventh frame and your first ever bowling strike! May it be the first of many, many more to come.

Just Call My Name

Joe sent me this picture from the summer office outing earlier this month. I cropped it a bit but I'm so glad I have something to remember the moment. It reminds me of everything that's golden about my boy and every boy.

Eric and I had had a long day in the sun and, to be honest, we had worn each other down. It started on the ride out when Eric insisted on having the run of the bus and kept pounding up and down the aisle. I tried being patient until others started complaining. It didn't help I guess that a couple teachers had enlisted Eric as their personal snack-courier; but in any event, I had to physically restrain him and threaten him to keep Eric in his seat for the remainder of the ride. Bad daddy. (Who can blame a child for his desire to wander and explore a half-empty bus?)

After the forty minute ride, it was another ten or fifteen minute walk to Yesong's summer home. Eric sprinted ahead through the winding back-alley country roads, eager to lead the way. After a minute or so, I heard him sobbing lowly around the corner of a bend. I knew what had happened: he had stopped and doubled back, unsure of the way, only to find daddy was lost. When I reached him I knelt and asked why he was crying.

"Were you scared because you couldn't find Daddy?"

He only nodded, wiping away fresh tears and throwing his little arms around my neck. It was a fair lesson and an important one. We moved on, me carrying Eric in my arms.

Half-way there we noticed a deer farm and I held Eric up to inspect some deer. He was interested but not impressed. I imagine he would have liked to see some action.

Finally, as my arms began to tire, I put Eric down but, of course, he was feeling needy and insisted on being carried. This recurring conflict is getting to be like our own Middle East affair. Neither side is willing to compromise or able to offer an adequate compromise. So, being bigger, I insisted on having my way and began to walk on.

When Eric responds with anger or violence, I often become cold and hard and simply walk away rather than risk escalation. But this sort of action only ferments greater resentment, anger and despair. What I would advise the Arabs and the Jews, based on my dealings with my boy is that there is always room for negotiation and greater empathy. For example, I could have invested a little more time not just insisting on my position (He's a big boy now or Daddy's already carrying too many things) but maybe simply sitting with him--listening or noticing the things around us--until he was ready to move on his own. In any event, looking back at the way I abandoned him it's clear I left Eric with a heavy burden of emotions that he needed the rest of the day to dissipate. Bad, bad daddy.

Eric got over his funk when he arrived and was soon overcome by the natural exhiliration of being set free in nature. As the adults broke out the gear and settled in, Eric and I began to explore the place. It was a fine property, enclosed by neatly-trimmed trees and shrubbery, with a modest home near one end of the pizza slice-shaped piece of land. Eric became entranced by a cat that appeared and then disappeared and began to look for it on his own. Food was eaten and activities commenced but Eric and I remained somewhat aloof and out-of-sync from the rest of the crowd and the schedule of activities. I remember Eric did not want to eat anything but cookies.

At some point in the afternoon, Eric faded and I lay him on a mat in the shade beside another sleeper. I was free to join the volleyball game but was feeling disappointed at my own behavior and the fact that my big plans for our first father-son picnic had not quite panned out. I don't know what it was: I couldn't relax the whole day. I don't know if it was lack of sleep or what but I was emotionally spent and my Daddy-radar was overheated. While he slept and I should have recharged, I ended up exerting myself and feeling more acutely how I had failed to really share or bond with Eric to help make it a special day.

When he awoke we tried playing baseball and he busied himself with some activities with various people. I thought it maybe best to leave him be, banking on his natural kid powers to regenerate his own enthusiasm.

At the point when things began to wind down, the grownups had gathered for the "awards ceremony" and to hear Professor Lee's words of appreciation. Thanks were expressed. Gift certificates doled out. But in a marvelous gesture, the staff had purchased presents for Eric and the other two attendant children, aged 1 and 9. Eric jumped when he heard his name and came dashing across the lawn to eagerly claim his prize. Happy. Delighted. Deserved.

"It's beautiful!" he said wide-eyed as he unwrapped his new vintage car pencil-sharpener.

The picture doesn't quite capture the gleeful look I saw in Eric's eyes. It's a little flat and the action appears less dynamic. I remember something else besides the sheer elation of Christmas morning, too; I remember feeling acutely his child's sense of entitlement and validation. Seeing him, I understood for a moment again what it was to be a child whose trials and victories are expressly measured in tears and applause. In Eric's furious scampering, I felt benediction and the absolution of all sins. I remembered how powerfully simple praise or recognition can once again set a troubled, stubborn world spinning in the right direction.

Yes, son. It's beautiful.

Yellow Belt: Discipline and Coercion

Eric earned his yellow belt on Monday (actually half-yellow). It was his first promotion of any kind and it seemed to him a significant achievement, as might be guessed from his contented smile.

Good job, son. Mommy and daddy are so proud of you.

Actually, Monday was the second go-round for his yellow belt since the previous Monday Eric had inexplicably balked at the promotion test. Master Kim was exceedingly gentle and understanding, offering Eric ample opportunity to perform away from the scrutiny of the gathered class and attendant parents; however, Eric adamantly and tearfully refused.

His resistance that afternoon was just one of those moods that sometimes seizes kids. Despite Master Kim's and my supportive urging, he simply refused to break the wooden board, even after performing all the other requirements, and at the risk of foregoing his promotion altogether. I pondered for a long while about what might have set it off (fear of failure, aversion to performing, lack of sleep, not enough validation) but in the end it's not really important. The memory of my own lifetime of irrational refusals and self-destructive tantrums is still vivid enough that I can begin to focus on the larger issue: How and when should a boy's will be overcome?

I guess my feeling is that nothing is more common or more potentially scarring than for a child to have his will repeatedly thwarted and overcome. I've told myself as a parent that learning to yield, concede and compromise will build my boy's character and better prepare him for socialization--after all, you can't always have your way. Everybody knows that parents--and especially fathers--have to set clear boundaries for children. But on the other hand, I can't help but feel I'm turning my little unbounded adventurer/explorer into just another obedient puppy. Must things be this way?

When Eric and I run into a conflict of agendas I end up always trying to nudge, bribe or coerce him into seeing things my way. Everything from the daily challenges of waking, eating and sleeping to Eric's more inspired fits of resistance become battlegrounds of pitted will. I can't even say I'm pleased about my growing arsenal of negotiation and coercion tactics. It all feels like something corrupt. An adult's misdirection to lure the child into a more grownup place. I'm sick of all this. What have I gained by bending him to my will or distracting him away from his own? I reflect upon my own distinct aversion to things I'm not already good at and I wonder if my more ambitious nature was not cowed into submission by discipline and judgment. It's sort of the loser's eternal refrain, "What if I had been nurtured instead of instructed?"

I had my reservations about Tae Kwon Do for Eric in this same regard. I thought it would be needlessly rigid and authoritarian. Just let the kids run around for an hour or so would have been my first choice. He didn't get into the Jump Jam music and dancing class the first term so we settled on Tae Kwon Do. Thank god he got in this year.

Anyway, the first time the parents were invited to sit in on the TKD class sort of confirmed my misgivings, though I must admit I handled it poorly. Eric and a band of cohorts were "playing to the audience" and became disruptive, running from their exercises to play chase amongst the dormant gym equipment. I sent Eric a series of stern looks and nods but he was unmoved. Master Kim was patient but you could see he was being tested. Even when the boys got back in line, Eric couldn't help getting involved in tickling and wrestling with his friends. It was clear that he was the chief instigator. Exasperated, I called Eric over and gave him a stern warning to be a better listener or we'd be going home early. Eric laughed me off and returned to his unruly games. The mood of the other parents was not disapproving but I guess I was spurred to action by my own feelings of parental impotence. He must have crossed some imaginary line or broke some imaginary camel's back because before he could register what was happening, I was whisking him out of his class, bag in tow, for the long walk home.

Oh, how he cried and protested! I remember it was a windy day and I had to duck into the recessed alcove of an office building to get him out of his uniform. A guard came out and told us to move along because Eric's wailing was being a nuisance. I let the poor old guy have it, saving me from choking on my anger and frustration and shame. Bad daddy.

So, the promotion test tantrum didn't nearly phase me. Maybe, in a way, it was Eric's subtle protest at my earlier heavy-handed discipline. If so, it was a cold, calculating stab at his father who he might have sensed was invested in witnessing his son's achievements. I've done that: withheld joy as punishment to others, even at my own expense. But I don't think it was that, though. Eric's not so twisted.

What I think... what I see is that not performing became something very important for Eric that afternoon. Like a life preserver it was something real for him to hold onto in a storm of emotions. Should I deny him that solace? Though Master Kim tried up to the last moment of class and even after, I recognized that Eric would not be moved.

At one point, I could see Master Kim considering whether he should just give Eric the belt and coerce the board break from him next class, but I was insistent that he not do so. There should be consequences to one's actions. Isn't that what fathers are supposed to instill in their boys? Looking back, though, even that demonstration seems a little weak and petty to me. It smells a little too much like punishment or disapproval. Why was I not able to more fully embrace my son's real emotional trauma before turning the whole ordeal into a lesson? I don't want to have to teach too many of these lessons to my son before I would expect him to doubt my unconditional support for his achievements, or even worse, aspire to achievement solely for my approval. Luckily, the following week Eric handled every challenge admirably, even the ones his father was struggling with. The previous week's protest had long faded from memory and he was able to cheerfully enjoy the fruits of his effort.

What I wish for my son, like any father, is that he grow to become a man; but I see no threshold for when that should occur. For the rest of his life, he will need to be independent, resourceful and persistent and I see so clearly that he possesses these qualities even now, as a boy not four years old. Isn't my job to protect those qualities in him, while nurturing his resolve to discover other facets of his nature or even his multiple natures? Who am I to disapprove should Eric turn out to be unruly, aggressive and insolent? Let him explore these natures, too.

What I don't want is for Eric to end up too like his father, too cowed by the threat of censure or disapproval to carry through with his ideals; still experimenting with boundaries as a grownup that should have been made clear years ago; possibly acting out his own issues of structure and discipline in his relationship with his son. Do I blame my own parents for my failings? If I do, it's just another of my failures. A man should take responsibility for the life that lies in front of him, even if he can do nothing about the life behind him. And so, in that spirit, I give this special blessing upon the occasion of my son's yellow belt:

Congratulations on your promotion, Eric. I know how much you love Tae Kwon Do and it shows in your bright smile and boundless energy. I hope Mommy and Daddy's support will spur you to achieve many, many things. I hope you continue in your discipline until you no longer feel that it expresses you. And I hope that you continue in your resistance to Mommy and Daddy until you no longer feel that it expresses you either... love Daddy.

P.S. Bonus footage of Eric in his more natural environment: dancing! That's him in the blue tracksuit in the front row. His daddy was a breakdancer, you know...

Potatoes!

Eric and I have begun to play a game that my father used to play with me when I was young. I remember it as "Potatoes."

Back then, dad would sling me over one shoulder and parade me around the house pretending I was a sack of potatoes. I would struggle and half-protest but he'd calmly persist, oblivious to my cries since, after all, I was only a sack of potatoes. The game would climax when we'd enter the kitchen and he'd ask mom if she wanted to buy some potatoes. Of course, by then I was usually a giggling, squirming mess eager to be released so I'd frantically implore: "Buy me! Buy me, mommy!" Mom would sometimes play it out by haggling over the price or pretending she had a lot of vegetables already and I remember the exquisite delight of being the unheeded center of this impromptu domestic drama: Dad, the friendly potato merchant, me, an unwilling sack of potatoes and mom, the hero who would save me from my potato fate. It's one of the two or three happiest memories of my life.

The other night Wifer and I had both come home late and she had some work to do so it was left to me to put the guy to sleep. We played baseball, brushed teeth and settled down to read a book. It was obvious after reading, however, that he was not fully wound down and perhaps anxious about the lack of attention from mommy. We were wrestling and I parried one of his lunging double kicks with the heavy comforter when inspiration struck! I quickly wrapped him up to the neck with his arms pinned at his side like a burrito and asked him: "Do you want to play potatoes?" His eyes gleamed with mischief and he gladly assented, more persuaded by my enthusiasm, I think, than any clear comprehension  of the type of game I had in mind.

I scooped him up in my arms and began carrying him through the apartment. "Po-TA-toes! Po-TA-toes for sale! Does anybody want to buy a sack of potatoes?" He lay happily prone, swaddled like an infant, grinning widely at our pretend conspiracy.  We tripped dutifully through the kitchen looking for customers but to no avail.  "Who wants po-TA-toes?" We entered the study and, unlike his father, Eric stayed discreetly in character even as the transaction escalated.

"Wanna buy some potatoes?"

"Potatoes? I love potatoes."

"Feel them. They're very fresh. Only ten dollars."

I had hoped Mommy would haggle the price with me but she was slightly distracted from writing an email and asked us to come back in a little bit. Disappointed, I withdrew my wares and resumed parading Eric around the house. "Po-TA-toes!  Who wants Po-TA-toes?"

When I looked down at the bundle in my arms, he was smiling but deeply entranced in the role-play. He kept his body limp and his arms within the folds of the by-now dishevelled comforter. Though to my knowledge he had never actually seen a sack of potatoes before, somehow he instinctively knew to stay inside our makeshift one. Nor was he discouraged or alarmed when I hovered him above the garbage bin and threatened to throw him away because "No one wants to buy potatoes." My attempts to amp up the drama, to elicit the same fear, impatience and delight I remember were met with a kind of placid acceptance: as if he had been playing Potatoes all his life.  As if it were strong in his DNA. 

This sounds like a classic case of the father trying too hard to recreate a childhood memory PRECISELY as he remembers it, to the detriment of the child's own genuine experience. But, luckily, I'm too smart for that. There was nothing besides his eyes he needed to tell me who was dictating the terms of this exercise. After depositing Mommy's delivery on the bed, he immediately wanted to play again--so we did. 

Now, I find myself wondering if he will ever think back on these sessions thirty-some-odd years later with anything like the same degree of fondness and nostalgia. I'm sure it doesn't matter. The gifts we offer to our children are nothing compared to the gifts we give them. Even when those gifts are of their choosing.

Something is Seriously Wrong

All things considered, I know I've been extremely fortunate as Eric's dad. Healthy baby, active, good eater, outgoing personality, curious, affectionate. What more could a parent ask? 

I had the rare luxury of spending several hours with my child every day for the first year of his life. In Astoria, our bond was forged through daily rounds in the Bugaboo to the bakery, Dunkin' Donuts and the bagel shop, and continued in Korea with Eric strapped into the front pouch of the Maclaren, accompanying me on my meanderings--out of his cradle, endlessly watching. Since he's picked up language, we've shared stories, dislikes and instruction, talked at length about our feelings, friends and family What he lacks in verbal expressiveness or comprehension I am not impatient to remedy. He is right at or around the proper level of awareness, ability and emotional maturity for his age. There's nothing wrong with him.

It's our communication. Right now, there's something wrong with it. It's not broken--but we're as out of sync as I can remember. I'd like to say it's just a slump: I've been busy with work, or he's been overwhelmed adapting to some new stimulus or mommy and daddy have been fighting a lot. But it's not that. He's super aggressive towards me lately. The barrage of double-kicks and suicide leaps from the sofa are only a little annoying, but the casual defiance disturbs me. It's different from the probing sort he used to use as shortcuts to determine what he could and couldn't get away with. Now, when he rips my hand from the keyboard while I'm working or flails at my glasses when he's upset, I can't help but feel that there's a message there: I'm very not happy with you.

The trick, of course, is to see everything with equanimity. Not to read too much of the current mood or circumstances into a given interaction. I'm normally pretty good at not doing that. And on the surface, it looks like simple resentment which might be remedied by a little attention, a little validation or a little understanding. But I'm pretty sure it's not just that; or perhaps it's that plus something else. I can't shake this feeling that we're misaligned in a way that we've never been before. That what he requires from a father right now is not merely going unmet, but has evolved. It's not that I'm simply not there for him, but rather that the whole arrangement is just not working for him right now as it should.

It's a long list--the list of things I fear may be negatively contributing to our current disjuncture:

• He's spending too much time alone with the sitter.
  
• He's watching too much TV.
  
• He doesn't get outside enough/play enough.
  
• He's sleeping too late and not enough.
  
• He's spending too much time on the computer.
  
• He misses certain people.
• He's not eating right.
• I'm stressed/too tired from work.
  
• I'm not involved enough in his concerns.
• I'm not consistent in my discipline or routine.
• I'm not encouraging his interests enough.
• I'm unhappy.
• I don't play with him enough or the way he wants.
• Mommy's stressed/too tired from work.
  
• Mommy and daddy are fighting too much.
• "Daddy's angry."

The last one is the one he always mentions when I ask him "What's wrong?" According to Eric, it's my cardinal sin. The sequence of a lot of our troubled interactions recently have gone like this: 1) Eric misbehaves; 2) I warn him; 3) Eric persists; 4) I express my anger/disapproval either verbally or physically; 5) he cries and accelerates the misbehavior, sometimes with violence; 6) I either punish him or isolate him. Well. That seems pretty obviously bad.

Despite the list, I believe the question goes beyond his dissatisfaction with my discipline. Parenting as I see it is not simply a seesaw contest between my strengths and my weaknesses as a dad. There's another underlying element which is impossible to talk about with any objectivity but is rooted in the constantly evolving dynamic of the relationship. No single element in our history, I've realized, is definitive in any ultimate sense. Is eschatological the right term here? In other words, as much as I cherish those early days pushing Eric around in his stroller, watching him absorb the world in passing, and as much significance as I attribute to carrying him around in the carrier and, literally, shaping his worldview, these things constantly ebb and flow in significance. We, as parents, must take care not to overly adhere to any specific practices or principles over the evidence of their efficacy, lest in our zeal we risk loving these things above our children.

This I firmly believe. 

That's not to say that I'm abandoning the paternal virtues of patience, gentleness and articulation. It's just that Eric and I are at an important crossroads. I need these virtues but my virtues must constantly adapt to meet my son who is, himself, evolving. The wifer has given me some advice which I found difficult not to discard at first (since she suffers from the opposite vice), but have since come round to: no more ultimatums. What have I got to lose by trying? No more counting to three. No more threats of impending punishment. When he disobeys or lashes out? Be more patient and understanding. I will try this tack but, at the same time, I think it's foolish to blindly plumb the depths of your endurance hoping your nature will rise to the challenge. I want my patience to have some tangible purpose. I mean, besides temporarily improving my relationship with my son. I want some knowledge to come from this exercise. Some practical thing that helps me understand why we're getting along better. Or maybe something I can discuss with Eric. Something that will help me understand him. Even if it's only temporary. And when Eric grows beyond the capabilities of that understanding, something I can discard as easily as an outgrown toy. So maybe he will understand that Daddy's growing, too.

Bus Trips and Night Fits

On Saturday, we had spent an eventful day together in the children's park, just Eric and I, walking, playing soccer, playing frisbee, blowing bubbles and flying his first kite. We even bumped into Eric's classmate, Clare, and her parents. The ideal combination of outdoor exercise, exploration and interaction. If mom had only been there it would have been perfect.

It was a beautiful Sunday and a young lady gave up her seat so Eric could sit alone, cross-legged and content, looking out the window for the bus-ride to Ilsan. When he fell asleep, another concerned woman urged me to sit and hold him so he wouldn't get hurt if the vehicle should happen to lurch. I thought about arguing but she was insistent and his head was already flopping to one side as the bus turned round a bend. So I sat and put Eric on my lap. Contentment.

The bus was full of youngsters and young ladies in Sunday clothes so I had no reason to feel guilty for sitting until a couple with a baby stroller came aboard. I'm pretty sure the rules of etiquette do not demand the father of the sleeping three year old give up his seat to the young parents with the stroller, but I felt uneasy nonetheless. If Eric was awake, we would have both been fine standing.

Got off the bus and took a cab the rest of the way, a short ride under the minimum fare. He woke up and was feeling a little cranky. I pacified him by letting him curl up on one lap with my arm supporting his spine. I call it the Koala. He likes it. Grandma met us in front of her house with Eric's bike for him to ride home but because he had just awoken, he was neither gracious nor inclined. Grandma's enthusiasm was, of course, undeterred. Eric couldn't wait to get inside and de-pant himself. I told him I'd be back by 9 and he seemed content to let me leave, eager to once again reap the pleasures of Grandma's indulgence.

Eric seemed happy to see me when I got back at the appointed hour but was a little insistent on playing together, even though it was time for us to go. Apparently he had been active non-stop since I left and had not paused to eat. Grandma fed while we played the "Finding Game" on the iTouch. After, we walked together as a trio to the bus station and Grandma seemed a little hurt that Eric insisted I carry him. On the bus, we found two seats up front and settled in for the ride. I carried him sleeping from one bus to another at the Yonsei transfer and for the remainder of the ten-minute walk home.

He was awake when we got in the door and mommy greeted him and babied him before he could get too cranky. Lights out for the night. Good, since I needed the time to complete the work I couldn't finish in Ilsan.

That night, again, his sleep was fitful. I heard him cry from the living room and when I went in to soothe him, he was sitting on the floor, distraught. I asked him what was wrong, but he was in no talking mood. Pee pee? Apparently not. I moved him to the bed but he wailed in protest. Did he want to be hugged? I hugged him but he resisted. I decided to just sit with him until he subsided. I asked him again if he wanted to pee and this time he assented. It was dark and he couldn't see the toilet. "I couldn't see," he said in his ungrammatical way. I didn't want to hurt his eyes so I turned on the outside light and let it stream into the bathroom but Eric was furious. He had a fit on the bathroom floor. It was around 3 A.M so I appeased him by turning on the bathroom lights. He squinted and finished his business but continued to blubber. I carried him to the bed and lay with him for several minutes before he faded.

Eric doesn't like it when he rouses from sleep and mommy or daddy isn't there. These days, he flails about in annoyance and frustration. Sometimes he uses the high-pitch wail that signifies anger. Recently, I thought that he was having bad dreams as I caught him arguing or protesting in his sleep; however, now I'm beginning to worry that he has serious doubts about mommy and daddy's reliability. If I'm honest with myself, I can't blame him.

Sometimes, even when we spend the day together, I can't escape the bubble of my own head. It's like I end up watching myself play with him instead of engaging him more thoughtfully, deliberately. I'm not faking anything. It's just that I've got a lot on my mind these days and sometimes I think Eric can sense I'm not all there.

On the other hand, I'm grateful that Grandma saw fit to let us take the bus home. The last time she insisted we take a taxi because there was a slight chill and silenced me by shoving a wad of bills in my hand. I was indignant and got off the cab with Eric the moment we were out of sight. Those shared trips, even the waiting or walking, are precious moments for me and I think for Eric, too. The challenge of keeping him behaved or engaged is somehow never as taxing on a crowded bus as it is in the confines of a taxi. And there's something reassuring about sitting next to him silently as the world passes by outside. Maybe the promise of a finite destination. Participating in the journey, instead of merely enduring it. The spontaneous glimpse, the momentary curiosity or the tremulous discussion that arises from my son. These are the moments as a father I dreamed about.

So, at last, this paradox: I love my boy, no more so than in those careless moments when he falls asleep during some mundane pilgrimage. At those moments, charged with the duty of his safe passage, I feel strangely validated and at peace. How many more sojourns will we share, I wonder, before he is big enough to want to travel on his own? I, myself, can almost never bear to sleep on any sort of journey for fear I'll miss some precious detail along the way... And yet, at home, at rest, I cannot comfort him when he rouses from sleep. His wail betrays anguish and frustration. It brings me guilt. I want to silence his cries with a firm hand over his mouth or punish him for not otherwise verbalizing his complaint during daylight hours. But I can't. I wait for the storm to pass. In the morning, like today, I reflect on my inadequacies and I pray for some sort of insight into my son's unrest.

If only our bed was the back of some bus and every night brought a distant destination...