The Calendar

My life is run by a calendar that I do not control. Yet, it’s also one that I cannot resist. I think for many fathers out there, shared custody is a lot like this. We navigate and plan often from across multiple states. We hope that between all of the planning and coordinating, the presence we manage to win in our kids lives will somehow be enough. Whether or not we are successful is left to the onward march of time.

At any rate, my son lives in Indiana. I reside in Oklahoma. It’s been this way for the past few years. He comes down for the summers and for two months we kick back here and enjoy our time together. I like to plan a side trip for us during this time. We participate, albeit somewhat limitedly, in our tribe’s summer, ceremonial celebrations. We also participate limitedly in the activities of our church. We try to pack in as much time with my family as we can before our time is up.

But the calendar is always there, lurking in the background, reminding me that I’m on the clock, and that I need to pull together as many good memories as I can. It’s a constant exercise in planning, negotiation, fiscal management, and time management. It sounds like a lot, but really this is just an annual exercise for us.

After my son goes back to school, the fall will roll around and I’ll see him again on his birthday, and for Halloween in October. I’ll have him again for Christmas. We’ll sort out a spring break visit. And then the summer will be here again and the process will start all over.

So, while there is much I cannot control, my job as Dad is to make damn sure that I show up, try to create the best memories possible, and bide my time until we can enjoy a brief respite once again during the dog days of summer.

But the funny thing is, I’ve never really liked summer.

I melt in humidity and bake in the heat. Being outside in July/August might as well be my own personal hell. I’m not sure when I developed such an aversion to heat-induced discomfort. Somewhere between living in Wyoming, Arizona, Indiana and Oklahoma over these past ten years, my constitution has decided it simply isn’t cut out for the heat. It’s a most inconvenient conclusion. These days, I would much rather hunker down in cold air conditioning, than traipse about in the 90-100 degree weather. My body tells me this constantly. Yesterday, I carried hot pizza boxes into the house and got a heat rash up and down my arms. I think it’s the heat. Maybe it’s eczema? Who knows?

Whatever it is, I’ve learned over the past few years that the calendar controlling my life really isn’t about me. It’s all about my son. The calendar is just the outward manifestation of love in action. I love him, so I make it work.

The result is that my life is mostly nomadic. I spend time with my girlfriend in Colorado. I carve out the time to be with my son. I juggle the relationships with my family here in Oklahoma. And I cope with the environs, wherever I am, as best I can. I actually feel most at home right here, sitting at my desk. Iced coffee in hand. Yet, I’m rarely here.

I suppose all our lives are controlled by external forces. Yet, I like to think that my calendar is an act of love. I know that love, the real kind, requires sacrifice. I know this because the people in my life that love me have had to sacrifice on my behalf too.

It doesn’t make things easier knowing this. But on the days when the heat raises welts on the arms, and the sad day of my son’s departure is at hand, it helps to remember that love, even at a distance, is always worth it.