That’s what I’ve been told. By my very Catholic mom-in-law, among others.
I have not had lunch with my boys at school this week. I don’t usually write about it, but every week I try and go to lunch with them. We eat crappy school food together, sometimes we chat, sometimes we’re quiet. The kids go to lunch one after another, so I can actually visit each of them in one day.
This week, life got in the way – there were meetings, and doctor appointments, discruptions. And this morning I was asked if I could make it to lunch, and I said I didn’t think so, things were busy, but I for sure was coming next week, and I’d also like to make it to their Thanksgiving Feast. We can’t celebrate Halloween, because that’s the devil’s holiday, but we can have Turkey Day. Go figure.
“Okay, dad.”
I thought that was it, and went on with my morning. Then, as I’m leaving the house, he is in tears on the couch. Distraught. I didn’t cry that much when my dog died. Okay, I did, but I won’t admit it here. (oops) My wife is with him, talking, and I can hear him saying that he was worried because I wasn’t coming to lunch.
Wanna hear the guilt part? (we Catholics are good at guilt. We’ve got that down)
Today, my “busy” is having lunch with my wife, the one day a week she gets a lunch break. Friday’s are our day to have a few quiet minutes that we can dine and don’t have to cut up anyone’s food or tell them to take the food out of their nose/hair/ears or any of that.
So, I feel like an ass for telling him no. And I feel worse that I couldn’t come up with a way to talk to him before leaving. I totally skipped out on dealing with it.
All of this, of course, is nothing compared to the crushing blow I felt reading the late night entry at atomictumor.
It’s raining, it’s pouring, your old man is boring…
