Apologies

When I got home tonight (after being away from home for 14 1/2 hours and not seeing any of my family awake today - blech) I walked into the bedroom to find hearts hanging from the ceiling and a Valentine's card from my wife on the bedside table. This made me laugh. What almost made me cry was the notes from my sweet little boys, which said "I'm sorry for being crazy. I'll try to be better." The reason I almost cried is because yes, we had a rough night last night doing bedtime without Mommy, and yes, I had to take away some stuffed animals and threaten and finally lock them in and fold laundry in my room until Alison got home, but I remember feeling like that when I was little. I remember the feeling of disappointing an adult just by being a kid, not understanding that the adult in the room did not think what I was doing was great fun. What those notes represent to me is not an apology from boys who had done wrong (although they should have listened better, it's true) but an indictment of a father who didn't take enough time for them that night, who was so focused on himself that he wouldn't help them wind down the way he knew he should. I know some of my legion of readers will be quick to reassure me that I'm a great dad and shouldn't be so hard on myself, but I know when I have ignored a prompting to spend quality time with my kids in order to gratify my self-interest, and then blamed them for it. And I hate that about myself. I went to bed last night (after Alison got the kids to sleep) knowing that if I died on the way to work today, I would do so with a profound sense of regret, and I knew what my sons' last memory of me would be: telling them to settle down and go to sleep and closing the door on them. I tried to go into their room after they were slumbering (I'm sure you older parents have done this one) and rouse them enough to give them a kiss goodnight, but they didn't stir. No, boys, I'm sorry and I'll try to be better.