Intention
Each day I try to remember
to text my wife and kids
a little message that might
suggest simply that they were,
at least for a moment,
the center of my attention.
I might say, "Happy Monday!
Hope your week is starting well!"
And I mean it. I sincerely do,
but what else would you expect
from a husband and father of three
who holds down a steady job
and participates in the affairs
of his local community,
who is responsible for others
and for the success of projects
and for the smooth functioning
of critical long-term systems?
To spare a thought for my chosen
mate and for those whom I had
a role in making might not be
the least that I can do, but let's face it,
it isn't the most that I can do either.
It likely seems mechanical at best.
In a perfect world, my attentions
would flow forth like a river
of inspirational parenting and
idealized love, rather than occurring
sporadically, if dutifully, through
the checking off of items on a list,
but every day can't be Christmas,
and the days of easy romance
cannot be sustained without
self-delusion and magical thinking.
Life is a flood we try to control.
We do what we can do.
I only hope that my tiny gestures
that find their way into the stream
of their individual days, like paper
boats that float past and disappear,
will be equal to the treasures
that I've promised them in my mind.
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