I remember the moment. He was playing Mario Cart on the TV. I was a few feet away, on the computer. Dad, you want to play, he asked, only the sound of the game in the air between us. There was life in the request. A child's energy, optimism.
Without taking my eyes from the computer I said: Maybe later.
Maybe later. This is what I said. Without much thought. Engrossed in my own interest. Content to have the TV babysit. So I could do my thing. On his time, his weekend. Between weeks.
With those words I drew a line. After has never since been as before. I have a propensity for the dramatic in the telling. This is not one of those times.
Maybe means no. That's what he said, still playing his game, racing against the computer, wanting something more, reaching out to me. There was a tone in his voice I had not heard before, a pain, however subtle. My God it was there. And I was an idiot. He was five, maybe six years old. And I did this to him, to me, to us. My words were as an arrow, once released, and I knew as the quiver of my voice made its way, I knew the damage it would do. As it did.
I have regrets. I do. A lot of them. But none greater than this, when the asking was alive and fresh and hopeful and a father was still a son's best friend.
26 comments:
"...when the asking was alive and fresh and hopeful..." What a beautiful string of words. That was quite an emotional story. I'm not a parent, but I have one... and I know.
BTW, thank you for posting the link for the synopsis. I appreciate that!
Every person has deep regret for acts they've committed in the name of parenting. Long after my divorce, I was hit by my most bitter one and I got on the phone to apologize for it. Mine was not one single act, but a pattern of behavior. I sobbed as I chokes the words out. She said, "Don't beat yourself up for THAT! Your behaving that way is what made me strong enough to know I can take on anything that is put in front of me." I'm no Pollyana. I know she ALSO resents some things I would simply call "good parenting". I just meant to point out that what WE regret may not have been so bothersome to THEM.
Nevine, you are very welcome. As are you kind words. Thank you.
Limes, I hear you loud and clear. Carry on. {clink}
Now you are being over dramatic. But in a very good way. Children are precious and they grow so quick. Its an easy slip of the tongue, "Maybe", "In a Minute..." " I'll be through in a minute".
We are all guilty. Because lets face it children suck up our time and erode our identities, for a while. But we love them and wouldn't have it any other way. Most of the time...
Your son is 5. Next time, ask him to play:)
Jasmine, you are very sweet. C is now almost 16. The event I describe here happened about ten years ago or so. I've had time to put it into perspective. ;-)
Oh good :) Even at 16, the love is there, carefully hidden by independence and attitude...
Oneself ever and always the hardest to forgive.
Your story reminds me of that 70s song about "Later, Dad" when the situation is reversed and it's the son who doesn't have (make) the time to go fishing with his old dad.
Perspective means healing, and how the light of love has softened everything - doesn't it?
The Cat's in the Cradle - Harry Chapin.
{Clink}
I just got finished playing several games of "wii" with my daughter. She's been asking for days and what was my response? Maybe later, I have to ______ first. Thanks for reminding me what is truly important. The dishes can wait, they're not going anywhere, neither is the laundry. Since I have 3 grown children, I should know better, but alas...
Thanks again. Maybe I'll go see if she wants to play one more game before she takes her shower.
Catch ya later!!!;-)
(the nose knows)
LotL, you're a good woman. Go have fun and make some memories.
Limes, I love that song. Always have.
Constance, that it does. I just wish it worked a little faster. :-D
Jasmine, you sound as if you speak from experience. :-)
Talk about the tables turning...She told me maybe tomorrow, she was tired...lol
:-)
That's funny. :-D
Limes, that's it - thanks!
what a hauntingly beautiful post, it goes straight to my heart.... my 3 are all grown now and all those moments have to last me a lifetime... and my, i feel whistful for all the "maybe laters" i ever uttered. But then i stop & give myself a shake & think how lucky i am to have such bundles of precious memories. *ruthie*
Ha, Conartisse, that's what I DO. Make any statement to me. I can almost always come up with a song or some lyrics.
Oh man. I did too! I have as well!
I can make today better to the best of my ability knowing now what I really did not get then, that time is not limitless and raising a child is not an easy task to achieve on a part time basis...
I know much better now. I am better now and your knowing - having the knowledge means you are better too.
Ruthie, thanks for the visit. Keep up the good work. Your blog ignites my imagination.
Cat, group hug. :-D
A supremely touching post that reaches out to every parent and unites us in this regret for surely we have all said this often and sometimes perhaps too often, but as everyone here it was received as a reminder, there are hours and days and opportunities ahead. Regardless of age, though as the song states along the way more maybes shall start to flow in our direction. Balance. Beautifully written, perfectly poppet, but I must tell you that when I read it, pictures ran through my mind, of football games and Chatanooga, teepees and swimming pools and twin suits, of those millions unseen, lion king and overalls and shopping for football gear, of favours done for strangers and YMCA, books and music teachers and meals, walks, drives and days and days, of love and dreams and father's day, visions of the future and cherished memories of the past. I'm sure a lot of other fathers love their son as much as you do, but I've never been able to see it in words and photographs as much as I have here. This post has inspired me to do better, might have to force M to play Wii Tennis, has been a while. :-) Beautifully poignant post.
Thank you my dearest Autumn. :-)
As natural as parenting is, it seems so unnatural to me. We are simply people, similar people, at different points in this journey. We're all f'd up. Some of us just have a title.
And yet we love. Thank god for that.
xo
erin
Well Erin, I could use a little of your love, if for nothing else, to show to the angels.
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