Another video chat with my son, sitting on fucking Mars in Japan, last night . . . why? (As the tears roll down). Why can't he be across town? Why can't I see him every weekend? What is it going to do to him to only see me two months a year?
He was so normal, just as usual, but I wonder what it does to his little seven-year-old mind.
I felt abandoned by my parents when they sent me to boarding school in England when I was nine . . . I was so small! I didn't have a choice. So being deprived of your father must be so tough, mentally.
Maybe not, but I don't want to see the posts he'll write when he gets older: "Oh, my dad, he was never around. I saw him each weekend on chat and he came and got me every six months if I was lucky."
Is that a nice thing for a son to think? That I don't care about him? I JUST SO CARE ABOUT HIM but there's nothing I can do and there's no way I can tell him how much he infiltrates my very soul because he can't read English and his mother probably wouldn't read it to him if I wrote it anyway.
Sorry to depart from the regularly scheduled joke programming but sometimes the tears roll and there's nothing to be done with it. It's hard, I know it's hard and I know it's going to be hard but it shouldn't be of any consequence to anyone but myself so just ignore me for the moment.
I'll get back to myself shortly.