The perils of paranoid fathering

I received a handful of concerned messages last night about the poem quickly posted last night before I turned my bones in for a night of tossing and turning.. Looking back and reading it, I realized why some may have expressed concern.. It seemed to be words of a disturbed and sad individual who was lamenting something awful.

Actually I was just expressing some deeply held sadness that quickly broiled over the top this week..

See, my wife Tara is in St. Maarten for the week—my son and dog are both stuck with me alone for the week.. The strict regiment of 9pm nbedtime failed last night already.. I envision the day care start times as being late each day too if the pattern, already set in motion, continues..

Without delving too deep into my personal issues here, this has been a rough bit for me .. I could have sacrificed some extra cash and went on this trip, along with my son Ayden, but I opted not to.. I don’t begrudge her of any fun, but I think leaving for a few days is as tough as her as it is to be on the receiving end here..

Eight crazy nights’ worth of being the loner dad—that doesn’t sound right does it?—and knowing that, while I peer out of my dirty coal-covered windows at a lazy winter gray sky my wife will be suffering through sunny days with 80 degree temperatures..

Nonetheless, these are the plights and perils of only one parent going on a vacation while the other does not.

However, in my strange mindset, my wife set me the photo you see with this post of the view from her airplane wing as she flew south:

My first thought was how much it resembled the scene from the Shatner TWILIGHT ZONE.. Really..

Maybe this is my other paranoia setting in—the fear of flying that was deeply ingrained in my non-traveling parents at an early age.

People of the coal region inflict that on others.. My wife, who was from Philadelphia, never had to worry about the sheltered mountain mentality of being fearful of change and discovering new things.. I suppose now 30+ years into that fear, it’s still so hard to overcome that I see visions of monsters on airplane wings..

My son has already announced that he listens to ‘mommy when she counts to three,’ but went on to remind me ‘but I am not going to listen to you when you do it!’ And then he belted out an evil laugh..

7 more days..
One week.
Either from parental hell or from angelic heaven.

Time will tell. As will moods—and God forbid some wretched snowstorm piles up this week, forcing us to maintain sanity in four walls.

While in St. Maarten? 85. Sunny. What else is new..