-A Lie
I decided to focus on family, choosing to believe-and have faith-that everything else would fall into place. I wasn't comfortable-or good-at lying to her.
So, when Samantha surprised me one day by swallowing her pride and asking directly if a...
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The busy activity of caring for the boys gave my existence purpose. At the time, I felt extremely judged and rationalized that no one faults a man for caring for his kids. Perhaps to a fault, I immersed myself in their lives. My eldest son, Josh, who had just started high school, opted not to live with me. The family therapist, enlisted after my divorce, explained that Josh's desire for separation from his father was natural at his age.
[The desire for independence at that age played a role, but was not the primary factor. ]
My three younger boys shuffled between the previously shared family home and the string of apartments I rented after moving out.
These moves coincided with my evolving relationships: Apartment 1, after separating from their mom; Apartment 2, merging homes with my girlfriend and her children; and Apartment 3, where we relocated after the relationship soured. It was a tumultuous period, and the transitions weren't as straightforward as portrayed here. Eventually, the boys and I settled at The Fountains of Norwood, a meticulously maintained complex with fitting amenities. I set about creating our home in the compact two-bedroom apartment.
A chaise lounge and bookshelves transformed a small dining area off the kitchen into John's (my youngest) makeshift bedroom. Levi's bedroom (my third-born) doubled as the family room, where he enjoyed prime access to the flat-screen television. Levi, who later worked for the Boston Celtics NBA franchise as a locker room attendant, has always been singularly focused, consuming almost exclusively sports-related programs. Several years have passed since watching him play varsity basketball as a Westwood Wolverine. His mornings began with Mike and Mike on ESPN, and every night ended with the highlight reel on SportsCenter. He slept on the hideaway bed that served as our couch during the day. The second bedroom became a shared space for gaming and other activities, with video games being the one common interest among all the boys.
When my oldest was a preteen, he played Halo, a futuristic military game involving space travel and alien battles. I recalled how, as a toddler, he sat on my lap as I played Rampage on our desktop computer. Rampage was a far simpler game. A child-sized mouse with a bright yellow scroll wheel and oversized buttons allowed Josh to eagerly participate. Years later, the roles reversed, and my ineptitude with an Xbox controller became glaringly apparent during Halo sessions. I spent most of my time helplessly walking into obstacles and looking in the wrong direction. Since then, I've been content on the sidelines, happily listening to their animated discussions but less thrilled with the escalating costs of new games and system upgrades.
Noah, my second-born, spent most nights in the spare bedroom on the highly prized sleigh bed borrowed from his uncle. Looking back, I'm amazed at the absence of conflict over sleeping arrangements, given the boys' occasional loud outbursts. The busy routine flowed from one day to the next as I coordinated multiple school drop-offs and pickups, meals, and the never-ending cycle of cleaning, laundry, and decluttering. The boys' sports, homework, and entertainment fit seamlessly into our daily hours together.
