Today, the morning after another of their late Sunday nights watching their favorite shows on TV and on Netflix, I gently started cooking bacon for my two youngest sons at the hour they really needed to be waking up. I've learned over the years that there is nothing like the smell and sound of cooking bacon to get a young man's attention.
The youngest and tallest starting stirring soon afterwards, as I gently reminded him that he had promised that he would set his cellphone alarm, which he neglected to do, in order to get him to school on time.
He ate his bacon and waffles, tucked the lunch I'd prepared for him into his backpack and off we headed to his bus stop. "I checked a minute ago and it said the bus would be here in 15 minutes," he told me. "Now it says 6 minutes."
"No problem," I replied. We got there in time.
Back home, his slightly older brother was up and had eaten *his* bacon.
After that, I had a choice to make: Get to work on-time, more or less, or spend some time with my 19-year-old.
As I have done throughout my "career," I chose the latter option.
Some people have labeled me a "legendary" journalist. I kinda doubt that. I know I have been a very good and a very hard-working journalist all of my adult life.
But as important as that work has been to me, it has never, ever even come close to my work (and joy) as a father. You could give me all the awards in the world, and I've won a few of them, but none of that acclaim would come close to the joy I feel for what I've tried to do, with mixed results, as a dad.
So, no surprise here, but I turned up at work an hour and a half late, after coffee with Aidan. We had a wonderful and revealing conversation. He is dealing with a lot of tough choices. Far tougher than any of us in public broadcasting face. I'll try to post about that later this week.
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