Traditions

I used to really love Christmas Eve. Really, really love it. Pageants, children's services (I played the role of Joseph one year. Can you imagine? Me, the earthly father of Christ? Please do not answer that.) Without boring detail, suffice to say my childhood was traditional in every way, and this included Christmas.

My Christmas Eves are different now. When he was still very young, two guys in suits, and a woman in a robe decided that my son should be with others on Christmas Eve. He would be with me on Christmas Day. So it goes. In the eyes of the court, it often boils down to math. So I will get ready tonight, like every year, for Finn to be with me tomorrow. I have a tree, and Santa has already been here ( I got socks, again.) I also have favorite snacks stocked and his most comfortable "lounge wear" is clean, folded, and waiting on his bed. Tomorrow morning, after not sleeping much, I will head out to the East Side to pick my son up. I am saddened that he doesn't wake up on Christmas morning with his father near him. Instead, there's a live in boyfriend. Again, so it goes. Sometimes I wonder if I have failed him in some way, not being there at times that a father should be, but I really don't think so. My father says,"You play the cards you are dealt." And I'm playing as hard and as well as I can. No one loves anyone more than I love Finn.

My Christmas Eves are different now, but I still love them. The opportunity to ponder and reflect on things. The chance to put things into perspective. The willingness to humble oneself as a small part of a much greater thing. And perhaps the promise to do better and be better, if even just a little. But I love Christmas morning more. That's when Finn's dad gets his gift. It's just one gift, and it's the same every year, though the size changes. It's usually wrapped in a hoody and a head of unbrushed hair and Santa doesn't bring it, I have to go get it.

It's the best gift of all.
Merry Christmas.   

School Pictures

Wednesday is picture day at school for Finn and this year, for the first time, I'm responsible for getting him ready for his close-up. His mother and I split up before he entered the world of school pictures, and he has never been with me the night before.

The court and the lawyers gave us each a piece of paper that gives a plan for when Finn is where. Alternating holidays, four weeks in summer, breaks split in two, alternating birthdays, etc. Thankfully, it has served mainly as a guide, due to the fact that his mother and I seem to be able to schedule things out with Finn's best interest at heart. However, there is no provision for events like this: The things that are part of a child's day to day life. They just fall where they fall.

Am I nervous? No.

I am not now, nor have I ever been a "hands off" type of dad.  When he was a baby and a toddler, I spent quality, one on one time with Finn everyday. The divorce took that away from me, and that was its cruelest blow.  I now cherish all the time that I do have with Finn, but I don't coddle him as much anymore. He doesn't need it. (BTW, coddling and hugging are two very different things and, as I have mentioned before, Finn comes from a long line of huggers on his father's side. He throws a hug like a champ. Not the quick ones, with a pat on the back, but the long ones, that pass through you and stay with you awhile. In fact, he's made ME a better hugger.) I watch, as he grows both inside and outside. He's got his own deodorant (Old Spice) and now, "hair product." Dad hasn't had hair product since 2009. Finn has a good eye. He always has, and he's a good looking boy if I do say so myself, and I'm saying so, and lately he has shown real interest in how he looks. He is more than capable of picking out a good outfit (face it, just the shirt shows), but just in case, dad hung a shirt on the rabbit hanger on his closet door tonight, and his favorite jeans are in the top drawer.

Family Business

I am an artist. No really. People occasionally pay me in coin of the realm for my creativity. My grandfather was a lawyer in Detroit, and a damn good one. Sometimes he would get paid in meat, cheese, or other goods from his clients in various market based industries. Another time. Another story.

I have had a very productive, and fulfilling career as a creative maker of various types, as an educator, and even as a gallery director/administrator. Some folks even seek my opinions these days, and I give it more than freely. I guess that's called consulting. I even have 2 degrees in Art and one of them is a Masters. Whatever.

Now it's time for me to throw another hat on the rack: I am purchasing the guts to a mom and pop picture framing operation. I know enough about the process to get into a bit of trouble, as well as craft some nice homes for people's treasures. That's what a frame is. Sanctuary. At its most basic level, a signal and reminder of value and importance, be it monetary, sentimental, whatever. I will be providing this now and I do not take this responsibility lightly. I'll be leaning on some great framing mentors to get myself up to speed with the mechanics and I'm excited about this new chapter. There will be branding and there will be marketing as I look to find my niche, and part of that component involves "give-away-stuff." I love give-away-stuff.

 I am also excited at the prospect of having a traditional, craft based, creative, endeavor to share with my son, Finn. He has been raised in a what you might call an environment that fosters and supports creative expression. There are rules and there is order, but at the core of our household there exists a world of exploration and making. This new opportunity will plug right into that quite nicely, and if things go well, someday "it will all be his."

I will still be designing, I will still be illustrating, I will still be teaching, and I will still be consulting, but now I'll be doing this too. Along with my son who used to have long hair.

and it begins...

My son met a girl at the pool yesterday. He told me on facetime last night. He gathered the courage to ask her if he could have her e-mail address, then he went over to the lifeguard and asked for a pen. That's some lifeguard, man.

She lives in the Northwest (Seattle), and is visiting for a couple of weeks. "She's 10, really tall, has braces AND a spacer," according to Finn. I knew this day was coming. My son would meet someone who made him feel kind of all weird inside, but a good weird, and just like that, he would cross over. You can't prepare for this no matter how hard you try. Another bittersweet moment in the growth of your not little anymore-one, but so much more sweet to this dad.

I hope I am ready for what I anticipate to be a steady battery of questions and opportunities for "advice" that isn't too heavy handed or absolute (let's face it, what do I know?) The sudden interest and need for various grooming products. ("That's not the kind I wear, dad." or worse yet "Hey Finn, my Issey Miyake seems to be evaporating, know anything about that?") The urgency of all sorts of new things. I can't wait. Really. Honestly. I remember, several hundred years ago, when I too had that buzz in my head and my chest. It was wonderful and terrifying, but by far it was more wonderful.

I don't worry too much about Finn. He's raised by a village, or a tribe, or whatever and I think he's being raised right. I know he will be a true gentleman and I know he will treat the object of his affection with the utmost respect. I am also pretty sure that humor will play a large part in his courtships. I hope so. Perhaps, at the age of 10, I am putting far too much cart in front of his horse. I should just relax a bit. Let nature take its course. Chill out a bit.

I'll be accepting resumes from his perspective prom dates starting in January.

hugs

Official dad business today: Finn had to get a shot, and he didn't much care for it. It hurt, and he immediately buried himself into his father's arms where, after a minute or two of tears, some back rubbing, and kisses on the head, he emerged with a sniff, comforted and ready for dinner.

I was raised in a family that takes hugs very seriously. When you're hugged by a Schudlich, you're hugged for real. Finn has taken to this tradition like a fish to water, never afraid to "throw one on you." He even prides himself on what he calls "sneak attack hugs." Few things compare to one of these, when you least expect it, and maybe need it the most. Finn has an uncanny knack for knowing this.

I can't make shots hurt less, but I can hug like there's no tomorrow, and that kind of medicine is good for both Finn and I. No prescription needed.

mr. manners

Pot Roast with the Most. Finn and Stephen Schudlich, March 1, 2015

Finn and I attended a movie the other day in which the line, "Manners maketh man" was uttered  by a genteel, impeccably dressed British gentleman just prior to him delivering a thrashing to a pub full of thuggish blokes without so much as even slightly loosening his double Windsor.

In the 14^th century, William of Wykeham, Bishop of Winchester, founded two great educational institutions that is New College Oxford and the Great Public School at Winchester. He gave to both the same motto; “Manners maketh Man”. In those days the word “manners” did not mean mere outward behavior, as it does now, but what we should call good conduct or morality.

I was raised to have manners. Good manners. Manners that today in some circles may seem archaic and old fashioned.  Even so, I make every attempt to educate my son to observe the same social etiquette that his father was taught by his father. We say please and we say thank you. We ask people "How are you?" and we wait for the answer. We hold doors (this in particular seems to be a dying art, and when we are out and someone makes no attempt to hold a door even slightly, EVEN if we are directly behind them, I usually tell Finn "This person doesn't appear to have any manners," and it's usually loud enough for them to hear me.)

Finn has a wonderful way of swooping in and retrieving items dropped or forgotten by people, both young and old alike. "Here you are," he says with a smile on his face and in his voice, "I think you dropped this." There are times that people are just speechless for a second or two. I've seen it.

One of the things that Finn and I like to do is send cards to people. Hand done cards. Lately we have been "collaborating" on these. It's nice to send them off once in awhile for no reason at all, other than to just say "Hi, we're thinking about you," but birthdays, thank yous, etc. are good too. I refuse to believe that there is anyone who doesn't like to receive a piece of "human touch" mail with all of those 1-800-Hansons and Papa John's coupons.

Of course I would be remiss if I didn't touch on the topic of punctuality. Be on time. If you say you are going to be somewhere or do something at a certain time, be there or do that thing when you say you are going to. Being notoriously, carelessly, repeatedly late and devaluing, or non-valuing another's time is one of the great acts of disrespect. I never cease to be amazed at students, in particular, who waltz into class 15-30 minutes late, without so much as a "sorry, man."

 I have to go now. Midterms are due in today, and I have a bit of last minute look-over to do. One of the requirements in the syllabus is attendance. ON TIME ATTENDANCE. Tardies add up to absences, absences translate into grade reduction and this is with full administrative and institutional support and blessing.

"Hey, Mr. Steve, how come I got a C?"

"Sorry, man."

pet cemetary

There are tasks and duties that we have to see to as parents that are not enjoyable, but they are every bit as important as "the good stuff." As a single parent, I lack the benefit (or hinderance) of another's readily available opinion when it comes to such matters. I do the best I can. I learned from two very wonderful parents of my own.

Today, Buddy the Betta crossed over the River Jordan. The parent/child/pet triangle is a delicate one. Often times the child's pet becomes as much ours and sometimes it makes complete transfer in responsibility (though never "officially".) Such was the case with Buddy. Buddy was the first pet that Finn got with just his dad, and he lived at Finn and his dad's house. In ways, Buddy signaled a normalcy, a sense of "home" in our house. Located in the kitchen by the side door stairs, he was greeted upon entering, and said goodbye to when leaving. He was a good fish in that he was active and quite beautiful (handsome, rather.) He seemed to enjoy people being in the kitchen, which we always are and he would frolic around his tank in what appeared to be performance. He watched me bake many many cookies, sharing his table with floured boards and cooling racks. And he listened to good music of all kinds. 

I think Buddy lived a good life, as good as we could give him. After a few tears, and a big hug, Finn put Buddy into the freezer. We'll give him a proper burial in the Spring.
Finn asked me a couple of years ago if animals go to heaven. Yes.

#drawforanhour

Sorting through drawings. Great time with Finn last night. Saw some wonderful people that I don't get to see much anymore. Endi (Poskovic), Julie and their boys, growing like weeds (now that Finn has cut his hair, Elvin stands alone as the long haired lad triumphant), and Nick Tobier whose energy, "bounce" and passion I miss a great deal. It was also heartening to see former students out and about engaging and infusing. Keith Kemp (with grey in his beard!) and creative wiz Michael Eugene Burdick (who graciously shared his table with me.) Ryan Wheeler was there from CCS (though I never had Ryan in a class, a piece of his "inspirational" artwork adorns my refrigerator.) Also nice to see Ryan Standfest laboring over his huge pile of medium, next to Timothy van Laarand John Charnota with his logical, dice born drawings. Chris Riddell still has that laugh by the way. Had a few words with Jennifer Belair, and Melissa Dettloff (who share some WSU lineage with me.) Nick and Grace, current students from CCS who JUST finished finals and, rather than get immediately out of Dodge, came out to see what the big deal was. You two have cemented your grade of D-, well done. I am sure I have missed many, but the evening was a blur. A marvelous blender of unfiltered making. Thanks for the invite Alison and Megan.

Off to Dick Blick today to get Finn a "big pad." I can't describe what it feels like to have your son follow you up the creative path. Past the finger paintings, pinch pots, and paper plate "hand turkeys" into the REAL stuff. Whether he stays on this path or not is up to him, but for now, we're going to need more paper...

holidays

A divorce doesn't prevent the holidays from coming, but it certainly changes them and  complicates them a bit. I went from a father who tucked his son into bed on Christmas Eve, and was there when he awoke on Christmas morning, to a dad who drives cross town to pick him up on the 25th, consequently missing out on both the "eve" and "the morning."

Traditions have to be revisited, often to appease a court order, signed by a stranger. That's the way it is. Over time, hopefully, lines of communication can grow to allow "flexibility." But a child is by far the most important factor in all of this. Not the petty pissing matches of his parents.

The number on the calendar tends to mean less to me than it used to. I attend mass on Christmas Eve, and I miss my son. The singing of Silent Night brings tears to my cheeks for more reasons than it does the others in the pew, but this reflection and ceremony of emotion, fueled by absence, along with heartfelt thanks for another year of his health and happiness (he was born on December 31st), serves to strengthen my bond with Finn. 

I have always tried to create  new traditions for my son and I during the holiday season. We hang stockings, he and I, and we put up and decorate a tree. This year he hung every ornament himself with pride. We have an advent calendar, and I am charged with "keeping up" when he's not with me. I also put out a plate of cookies on Christmas Eve, that are mysteriously consumed, save some crumbs before Finn and I arrive home. Our Christmas is on the evening of Christmas Day, after the trip to relatives, good warm showers, the donning of pajamas, and some special snacks. We sit in front of the fire and I get to be Santa's conduit. But I also get to be Finn's father at a time when being so is the greatest gift I will ever receive. I have enough socks, and I purchase my own cologne. We stay up late, laughing, until he just can't keep his eyes open anymore. That's when I get to tuck him in.

The next morning we have a grand breakfast together, and plot our day of doing nothing. Nothing at all. The 26th is the Feast of St. Stephen (St. Stephen's Day) for good Catholics, Boxing Day for you Kiwis and Canadian friends. With all due respect to the liturgical calendar, and a nod to old St. Steve, I like to joke that this is MY day (my name is Stephen after all.) My special Christmas Day with Finn.

collaboration

Finn and I make our own Holiday cards. We take turns in the creative seats. Sometimes I illustrate, and he supplies the "writing" and sometimes we reverse roles (he really doesn't need me, but it's nice that he lets me play along.) This is a project that I always look forward to. It's a true team thing, just him and I. We even have small, informal critiques where we discuss the direction of things, modifying where appropriate, as well as celebrating a winning effort. Finding something that you and your child/children do that's unique and special is vital when it comes to building and strengthening that single parent son and/or daughter relationship. Having it be a wholesome activity that bears fruit which can be shared with others is a bonus. Opening a meth cookery is not wholesome, and I would advise against it. It's illegal and it's dangerous. Let Mr. Brown the science teacher instruct your children in chemistry. That's his job.

Finn's cards have been shown in galleries, have garnished awards, and have even been interpreted in the form of dolls, lovingly hand made by one of our special and immensely talented art pals, Mary Fortuna. These have found a home in our house, reminding us that we actually do make a pretty good team.

We are in the process of working on the card for 2015. I am copy writing this one and, I think Finn and I will split the drawing duties. We don't make very many so if you get one, it means that you are undoubtedly a very good person, who has made an impression on my son, to the point that we both wish for you a happy holiday.

If not, well, try harder next year.

mom's got a boyfriend

Sooner of later it happens. Your child's mother, your "ex", the woman you were supposed to grow old with finds someone else. What did you expect? You knew this was going to happen. In fact, you may have found new love in your life as well. This can be something that is at the very least confusing, and probably pretty frustrating to young ones.  Finn's mother and I split when he was about 5, and it wasn't very pleasant. It was a war. I could tell tales of horror, throw some dirty words and utilize smear tactics in here, but I've moved along and my relationship with my son is wonderful. My relationship with his mother is cordial and I think we both have Finn's best interests at heart. Let's leave it at that. I've taken quite a bit of high road in the last several years, and the view from up here is pretty good. I think that Finn thought that maybe his mom and dad would get back together. This is probably pretty common. We aren't getting back together.

My son  mentions the "new guy" who lives with them now, and apparently he's  pretty cool. I'm glad to hear it, but the boyfriend is inconsequential to me. The most important thing for my son to know is that I am his father, and that I will always be his father. Always. Just because there's someone else's shoes at the door, and a different color toothbrush in the bathroom doesn't mean I've abandoned him in any way. I think he knows that. Kids are smart. I also don't want him to be afraid of new relationships that arise in his world. He's met some really good people in his short life, and he's going to meet a lot more. Some of these will be through his mom and dad. Oh yeah, he's going to meet some assholes too. I met a couple just the other day, but that's life and life is for everybody.

I won't lie. It's not always easy thinking about some other guy playing catch with my son, or showing him tricks on his skateboard, but in an odd way, I'm glad he's there.

He's never getting any of my recipes though. Fuck that.

change is good

My son got a haircut today. It was his idea entirely. He does things when he's ready. That's how he rolls, and it's working for him so far. When he was ready to ride a bike, he did it, When he was ready to love broccoli he did that too. Some sick little boy or girl is going to get some beautiful hair, until their own beautiful hair grows back. His karma will stay with them forever though. My son is my hero.

I won't lie. I will miss my son's long beautiful hair. It was his "thing," one of his unique traits that set him apart from others. But his hair alone isn't what makes him unique. He's my son, my only child and his actions often humble me. His ability, willingness, and desire to do kind things without the imposed filters and prejudices that can come with age may be his greatest quality. The hair can always grow back if he wants it.  

A former student wrote these wonderful words about him. 

"A former professor of mine (yes Professor Mr. S.) has a very noble son that just donated his hair to make wigs for cancer patients. He did this out of the kindness of his soul. As an adult you don't always get to see that side of society. It's sad. Kids see the world for what it is. Its not black and white, but more of a gray tone."

Our kids teach us stuff all the time, slow down and pay attention.

AM feeding

In case you haven't noticed, food is a common topic here. To do all the stuff they need to do (and that they want to do,) your child needs to eat. Not once a day, not in a moving car, (though there are exceptions, the occasional Donutville USA en route to school is an exception), and not when you feel like it. Kids have gas tanks like everyone else. When it's empty, they break down and don't go. Fill the tanks with cheap ass gas ALL the time, or let it run too low consistently and performance will suffer.

Breakfast is key for a variety of reasons in this west side bachelor pad, and it's key for both of us. 1) It gets fuel in us. 2) We have some "top of the morning" face time (I don't see my son for 3-4 days at times, so every second is precious to me and, I hope him.) 3) Gets some order going and shakes off that sleep residue so BOTH of us are ready to hit it.

Simple stuff really. Eggs are great. We like omelets. I've always liked omelets. You can put stuff in them. I don't care for the parts of an egg on their own: The yolk is too concentrated, and the whites are weak. One world, one egg.  If the omelet breaks down, it's scrambled eggs. So what. Get some fruit in your kids too. Berries, bananas, kiwi, whatever. Cut it up if you have to. Mix it up if you want. My son likes fruit cold. Kids go in and out of likes and dislikes, so stay on top of this. ASK THEM. Cereal is timeless. We favor the classics here. Rice Krispies, Cheerios, Life, etc. None of that sugar bomb bullshit. None of that crap with monsters pimping it. The real Dracula impaled people, and the mythical character drinks your blood until you die. The Frankenstein-ish fellow is made up of parts of other dead people. Yummy. Sometimes we use the ready to go crescent roll stuff. Don't judge me. I make biscotti. You can wrap things with this. Stuff like sausages, cheese, bacon, etc. The sausages and bacon can be cooked ahead and stored in the fridge until needed. This stuff also comes pre-cooked in the store.

I try to make the plate funny when I can, but that's just how we roll in our house. Faces are easy. There are lots of web sources that show simple illustrated expressions. Working personality into these faces is challenging but not impossible. Eyebrows are devices for conveying attitude and mood. Mouths that contain teeth indicate, depending on the number and color, what area of Appalachia the breakfast character is from. Or, if they're from the U.K. When Finn gets older I may tackle the likenesses of famous literary giants like Joyce, or Tolstoy, or even Vonnegut. But for now it's good ol' Mr. raspberry eyes, sharing  his croissant grin. Even though he's quite resentful and dissatisfied on the inside, and dreads the idea that his destiny is in a little boy's tummy.

Packin'

4th grader. All "grown up" now. Still need to eat. The fine art of packing a lunch isn't hard if you follow some rules:
1)ASK: Your child knows what they like. At times a lunch bag returns home with much of its contents still present. That's not always their fault. Let your kids know that you won't take it personally (and DON'T) if they shun certain things that you think they would or should like. Keep it real though, dad. The school nutrition board may consider pizza a vegetable, but Cheetos are not a fruit. The trick is to find a blend of good (or at least, not bad) for them, and good to them. Sandwiches are easy enough but, find a good bread that they like. Or try lawash or pita. The shit's round and that's just crazy. Pita can be stuffed and lawash can be used to make a roll up (lay the sandwich ingredients in a flat lawash and "roll it up." Slow poke western thinking has finally placed these options in almost every grocery store and market. 2) VARIETY: I like to pack 4-5  things besides the "main course." Vegetables cut into convenient sizes (these can be pre-cut in advance and kept at the ready in the fridge.) Fruit such as grapes and strawberries or peeled oranges are great. Bananas get beat up by lunchtime, and does anyone really enjoy bruised and brown bananas? Get a banana in them at breakfast if you can. Apples, I have found, are a crap shoot. Pears? come on now. Unless you can pre-slice these things, the odds of consumption are not good. And slicing these things risks "the browning" which is death for kids' lunch bag items. A sweet of some kind such as a couple cookies (not 1, not 8), and a savory offering like Sunchips or pretzels or crackers/with some cheese slices. My son likes juice, but I rotate this with water. And remember, do YOU like to eat the same thing everyday for lunch? Mix it up. 3) PREPARATION: PACK LUNCHES THE NIGHT BEFORE. Less AM chaos. 4) INJECT SOME FUN: I draw on the bag, or stick a funny note or drawing into the bag for my son to discover like "Hey, are you having a good hair day?" 5) PANIC: Don't. Most schools that I know of, have a lunch program that you can pre-pay an amount towards. I use this in emergencies when the home packed lunch just doesn't work out, and it happens. I also put a couple bucks in my son's backpack in a secret pocket that he and I know about.

Embrace Technology / Part 1

Sometimes you live here, and he lives there. Enter Facetime. Get it and use it. Sometimes you get to sit through a long call where you see more of the room then him, while he narrates a project he's working on with silly putty, or pennies, and sometimes you get to see him wear a spaghetti moustache during a thunderstorm, and tell him everything is going to be OK. It doesn't matter. You're with him and he's with you.

Stitches

Learn to sew on a button. It's easy, and it will provide you with a great (though let's be real, an inflated) sense of personal accomplishment as caregiver supreme. I took what was called Home-Ec (home economics) in high school. I built enough birdhouses in junior high. Also a cutting board. my mom still has it.

Kids do things to things. Clothes are things. Getting comfortable with fixing, patching (and knowing when to cut bait) is key in the single dad's house. I promise it won't emasculate you. In fact, it may even add to your status as a modern, or renaissance  man. But, as "Bob" would say, baby steps get off a bus.

It is also a must to know how that iron works. I don't iron my son's clothes except for a trip to Mass (not Massachussets) which, by the way, we are WAY overdue for. But that's between our Maker and us. Anyway, that iron also puts patches on holes, which if not included in the "style" of those small pants, will certainly appear in due time. The best time to sew a button on is not at 7:00 in the morning. That's a good time to "go get another shirt." I prefer doing any sewing at night, when the news is on. I don't want to watch the news anyway. it's all bad. But that's another post...

Get The Hell Out

I live in Michigan. It's beautiful here. It's beautiful other places too.  Like Colorado, where I lived for 6 years. I loved Colorado, but there's NO BIG WATER and, if you grew up in Michigan, you have water in your blood. Literally and figuratively. I don't think it's beautiful in Oklahoma. I think one "tolerates" Oklahoma, and prays for family to move away to other exotic locales, like Nebraska, where they can visit. But this isn't really a travel blog. At least not yet.

My son and I have bikes. Bikes are a cheap date, and we try to get on them when the weather allows which is a great deal of time in Michigan. We create "destination" trips for ourselves. I usually carry a backpack and, a bike ride may include a trip to the market for dinner stuff (or lunch stuff), a stop at the coffee shop, and maybe the yogurt stand if it's in the evening. The point of this is that we spend time together, seeing things one passes quickly in a car (or never sees at all), and we talk. Sometimes about nothing at all, and sometimes about something that might be bothering someone, or something that has someone really happy or excited. Bike rides are a great time to listen to your kid(s).

We also have shoes. Shoes are an even cheaper date than bikes, and if you're lucky you get to hold a hand. My son is almost 10, and still holds my hand. When weather doesn't permit bikes, walking is great. The sights, sounds and smells of outside are different, so it's a different show than the one in warmer months. These walks can also have a destination or itinerary element to them, we just have to park the car at a spot that works into the route. In a pinch we walk around the neighborhood, where it's good for my son (and I) to have a presence in our community. Afterall, we live here. Finn and I BOTH live here. We know the woman who has the cute dogs, as well as who to go to when our bike tire is a little flat (Wally, the saint next door.)

Sometimes we ride the bikes down to the big park by our house and take the football or the frisbee and toss it around. This inevitably leads to that mystical event in which kids attract other kids. It's a joy to watch, even though it usually means I  get rotated out of the tossing sequence. I am happy to watch from the bench. Kids don't give a shit about religion or culture.

The point is we get outside, and so what if sometimes my son looks like Richie Tenenbaum.

Finn Joke

What do you do when you see a spaceman?
You park your car, man.

Home

If you're like me, you "share" your child. I have never gotten use to this term, but there it is. The judge, the court, the Friend of the Court, and the lawyers can use it. I don't.

From the start, it was very important that my son realized a sense of "home" when he was with me. We live in a small brick bungalow with two bedrooms downstairs. The studio/office is upstairs and, also occasionally spread across the dining room table, particularly during tax return season. One is mine. The other is his. All his. My son has complete ownership of this room. I clean it once a week and go sock hunting. He likes green. he really likes green and he picked the paint, the sheets, etc.  He picked what went on the walls and he even had a "no girls" sign on the door, though that's long gone. As far as the rest of the house goes, he absolutely has a say in matters, but we decide issues of decor in sort of a faux-democracy (it's more of a monarchy actually, but I am a fair and just King.) The fridge is covered with his stuff and the bathroom is a haven for a variety of play objects that float or do not. Also, when he is with me "projects" and "props" migrate out from their storage areas to find purchase in various areas in the house: Magic tricks in the kitchen? Sure. Hot Wheels track down the stairs? Why not. Hot glue gun on the Eames Storage Unit? NO WAY!

The important thing is that this is his house just as much as it is mine, and he knows it. He sits on the porch, rides his bike around the block, and works the microwave with complete confidence.

The Prince even got a fish to care for and look after.
It's the King's fish now.

Yours, Not Theirs

I have issues. You have issues. We all have issues. Being thrust into the world of single fatherhood can't help but make some of these worse, and maybe even hatch some new ones. But these issues are OUR issues, not THEIR issues. Work it out dad. See a therapist (I do.) Join a gym (did that too.) Get "good" for you, and you'll be good for them, and they need you to be good for them now more than ever.