In reading the post I shared on Thursday about Paul Carrick Brunson’s 2012, I was reminded to reflect on my own. There was something different about this year. Something scary.
I realized I had kids.
Two were born in 2008. The next in 2011. The third and fourth in 2012. I tried to be responsible, you know? I wanted to take care of them all at the same (damn) time. But the harder I tried, the more I failed. Especially when one passed away around my birthday in 2011. After that, I found myself neglecting one, then another, and another. Nowadays the majority of my time is dedicated to the remaining oldest. He’s at an important developmental point, and if I’m not active in his life now, there’s no telling what he’ll grow up to be. It’s tough. Really tough. Especially since people notice and call me out on it. “What about the other ones?” they ask. When will I be the father to all my children the way I announced I would be?
I’d love for all of them to be a part of my life, but it’s just not possible. I don’t have the resources to take care of all these kids. Even with a few more hours in my day or a few more dollars in my pocket, it’d be a struggle — a balancing act that I couldn’t confidently maintain. These kids are projects in the most literal sense. Let me tell you about each of them: