I was having a discussion with my wife the other night. We talked about what makes us happy. She was having a bad day. She’d tried to create a Lego cake for our son’s birthday and she couldn’t. She felt bad and our son really wanted her to make a cake, she ended up having to buy one. She thought she didn’t do enough for our kids. I thought about it for a moment and realized that might be my fault a little.
I don’t tell her thank you enough for all the things she does for them. She gets them up for school, gets them fed, makes his lunch and takes him to school Wed-Fri while I get up and get ready for work. On Wed&Thur I take our daughter to day care so she can work. She picks them up from school–our daughter’s daycare is twenty minutes away–helps our son with his homework, makes dinner–because I don’t get home until 7 from work–feeds them and herself and the we both get them ready for bed. I read to our daughter while our son reads to her.
I told her all the things I listed above–not to mention all the things she does on Sat&Sun while I’m working–and when she said that she doesn’t do enough. I thought about all the time I don’t spend with them because of work. I get to spend 16 hours with my daughter, just the two of us a week. Our son, I spend a couple hours every month or so just the two of us at the comic book store. That’s the one thing I do with him, and only him. It’s our time together.
Her saying she doesn’t do enough made me realize how much she really does. And how much time she puts into our kids.
Making our kids happy makes her happy. This I can understand.
For my happiness
A few years ago my dad and I stopped talking for the second time. The fault lies on both of us, though I have it more. Now that I’m older, haven’t really talked to him about what I’m doing, what my kids or my wife is doing, I’ve reached a peace a happiness that I wasn’t sure I could attain without him in my life.
When my wife and I were having our discussion I realized that nothing makes me happier than her, our kids, my dog and my writing. I don’t need anything else. I’ve always been a loner–which caused me to be bullied through middle school–it was something that no one understood about me, least of all my dad. He thought I should do what he was doing or what he could’ve done if things were different.
The first time we stopped talking was because (short version) I didn’t get along with my step-mom and they told me I had to leave. I ended up in Las Vegas with my big sister, my wife (who was my girlfriend then) moved to Las Vegas a month after I did. For ten years my dad and I didn’t talk, until my nephews graduation party.
He never called on my birthday or my son’s birth, and I never called on his birthday or Father’s Day. It was a mutual thing.
Now I’m 36 and I’m okay with not talking to him. Along the way my two oldest sisters stopped talking to me and I still don’t really talk to either of them. But, I’m okay with it. I still love my sisters and my dad and I’ve forgiven them–regardless of whether they’ve forgiven me–and I’ve moved on. I no longer think about my dad and I talking. It’s just something that I’ve moved past.
He has his life, I have mine. Mine includes my wife, kids, dog and writing. I’m not sure what he has.
I’ve found my happiness they live in Las Vegas and in my head with my characters.