Fatherhood Freestyle: Parenting Time–Quality vs. Quantity

As some of you know I parent from abroad. My children live in Champaign, Illinois and I live in Kyoto, Japan. I visit them about four times a year (weeks at a time) and they spend summers with me in Kyoto. It would be an understatement to say that our time is limited, but it would be equally untrue to suggest that we do not make the best out of the time that we have.

By default I have become the “fun parent.” I don’t say this as a slight to their mother, (she does a lot of fun things with them as well) but because I see my children during holidays and school breaks we tend to take trips to interesting places, visit relatives, and get our leisure on to the fullest. When I get together with my children I am generally all theirs. Even though they are getting older (12 and 10) we do all kinds of silly stuff together like scaring each other when we walk out of public bathrooms and playing hide and seek in bookstores and malls. And of course I am the biggest kid in the group with my daughter sometimes urging me to pipe it down and chill.

But we didn’t always have this much fun. Earlier in their lives I was working hard as an Assistant Professor trying to acquire tenure. The pressures of work insured that I was not always available. My kids would want to play and I would either be deep into a book or transfixed by the computer screen. In order to cope I had to develop a fairly rigid routine that unfortunately did not always include a lot of playtime and or opportunities for bonding. Our weekdays were straightforward: wake up, breakfast, school, homework, dinner, bath, sleep—wake up repeat. On weekends we might head to a park, catch a movie, or visit friends, but because of the nature of my work I was not always there and my kids knew it.

In recent years my work situation has improved. The downside, however, is that I now live in a different hemisphere and see my children far less than when I was struggling to get my career on track. I now have “more” time for them but “less” time with them and it doesn’t always feel good. I often wish for the days when we were rushing off to school in the morning or I was trying to make dinner and check homework at the same time.

But what does it really mean to have more time versus less? I mean what is time anyway other than what we make it? My current co-parenting arrangement has taught me that quality beats quantity every time. Now let’s be clear I still yearn and hope for more time, but the consequences of my own actions have forced me to work with what I have. Sure there is less professional pressure, but there is also less opportunity to parent in the flesh.

Yet my circumstances have taught me presence. When I spend time with my children I cherish our exchanges in ways that I never did when I had a more traditional arrangement. I take a deeper and more profound interest in every word that spills from my kid’s mouths. We play more, talk more, connect more and enjoy the fullness of our time. I tend to be less restrictive and far more available physically and emotionally. Distance has made me more reflective and meditative about parenting and has assisted me in providing more substantive guidance and direction about life. Again this not in anyway to suggest that I am better at parenting than their mom, but only to underscore that my circumstances have forced me to find the upside for what might prove to others to be pretty bad situation. In other words value the time you have and never underestimate a mean game of hide and seek at Macys.

Surrendering to What Is…and to What Ain’t

A couple years back I was fortunate enough to be given an opportunity to take a new teaching position in Kyoto, Japan, where I still live today.  When I got the news, I was so excited that I told all of my closest friends and family.  I also shared my new opportunity with my ex-wife and suggested that our kids could accompany me for a year and then begin alternating between the U.S. and Japan on an annual basis.  I was so hyped that I really believed that we would be able to put together a well balanced, year–on year–off living arrangement like my parents had done for me.  When I was growing up I lived with my mother for one year, and then with my father for a year.  This arrangement continued from elementary school until I began high school. My ex-wife was not in agreement, to say the least.  Needless to say, I was shocked and could not understand why we weren’t seeing eye-to-eye on the issue. 

You see, my ex and I had done what few couples have been able to do; we had orchestrated a harmonious no -contest divorce, shared custody of our children, lived around the corner from each other, and had put in place a system where our kids rotated between us on alternating Wednesdays.  This proved to work well for everyone involved.  So, it was within this context that I thought that we could put this idyllic show on the road—like across the Pacific.  Wrong!

In hindsight, I was quite naïve.  In an effort to gain some clarity I reached out to the women in my life for advice.  They knew that I meant well, and that I just wanted to share a once in a lifetime, enriching experience with my children. However, they believed that my decision could possibly be jarring for the kids or any other parent who was as devoted as my children’s mother.  But, I too, was devoted.  “What about me?” I decried.  Recognizing that I had a point, most of my friends and family advised that I revisit this idea with my ex-wife after I had settled down in Japan and we all had adjusted to the new arrangement. They offered that she would probably agree to such an arrangement once some time has passed and she’s able to fully appreciate the opportunity for what it is.

This was very hard for me to do, but I had no choice.  I was committed to maintaining a harmonious relationship with my ex and not disrupting my kids’ lives in a nasty custody battle or creating a negative situation in an attempt to have my way.  In sum, I did not want to spoil what we had created as loving parents, but I did want to continue fathering my children.  I wanted to know that there would be a time when I would be a full-time parent again.  I needed a comforting resolution for a situation that I created, in part for my kids.  So, I did what experience had taught me to do: I surrendered.

When you surrender to your reality you gain greater insight into what your reality actually is.  When you surrender your mind naturally slows down and you become poised to accept things as they are.  Acceptance always leads to greater peace and clarity even if what is before you is not to your liking.  This was certainly the case for me.  After I decided that my children would remain with their mother and that I would embark on my new journey to Japan without them, I then began to think creatively about how I would parent from abroad. 

Immediately, I began to learn about all of the latest computer technology that would allow me to stay in close contact with my kids.  I started looking closely at my schedule and the kids in an attempt to figure out what times would be available for us to see each other.  Because I had initiated this move I began to think about how I could adjust my finances to accommodate becoming a transnational father of sorts.  Airline tickets were going to have to take priority over other things.   It was not going to be easy, but I began to see the possibilities once I took a hard look at what was before me.

As I surrendered I began to think more meditatively about my children and what kind of relationship I wanted to develop with them.  One of my elders had told me some time ago that it is not the quantity of time that you spend with your children, but the quality.  Upon reflecting on that advice I immediately decided that I was going to become a more “present” parent and devote myself to engaging and listening to my kids more.  I knew that I wanted to make every moment special and become a more expanded person in the process.  Though, I am still holding out for the time when my kids can live with me in Japan for more than just four to six weeks in the summer, I am forever grateful that I surrendered to what was before me. The experience and opportunities that have emerged from this new arrangement have been more glorious than I could ever have imagined.     

What’s in a “Broken Home”?

I was born in 1969, to parents who were aspiring to live a revolutionary life.  For them, this simply meant working against and outside of “the system” as much as they possibly could.  They never married.  When I was two they split and decided to end a romance that had facilitated my arrival onto the planet.  By traditional standards I was a bastard child born out of wedlock to two young people who had never really considered marriage.  Some might say that I was the product of a “broken home,” or a home that never really existed.

Though my parents were young people they believed that there was indeed another way to live in the world.  They tried, as many did, “to be the change that they wished to see.”  Their politics and sense of radical purpose facilitated a tremendous distrust in the U.S. legal system.  So when they decided to go their separate ways they had to make some critical decisions about how I would be cared for.  Up until I was about four years old, they both continued to live in Los Angeles and juggle their parenting responsibilities between themselves and their networks of family and friends around the city.

Yet between four and five my Mother decided to relocate to Atlanta, Georgia so that she could work in factories and organize workers at “the point of production”.  My father had also decided to go south and assist Black farmers in Southwest Georgia in their fight to maintain sovereignty over their land.  I primarily lived with my Mother in Atlanta, but my Father would come up fairly regularly to spend time with me.  At one point he even moved in and lived in our basement temporarily.

Eventually my father left the South and returned to Los Angeles.  At some point during my early years they decided that I would live with each parent during alternating years.  There was no legal work or child support arrangements.  They lived by one simple rule.  Who ever had me took care of all of my expenses with the other parent contributing support whenever they saw fit.  My life was not perfect (whose is), but it was tremendously functional and emotionally tranquil.  I never heard or witnessed my parents argue when I was a child.  They often hugged when they greeted each other and emitted a deep since of sincerity and interest in the well being of the other person.  There was always laughter and humor in the room.  They never made me feel like I had to choose or side with one parent over the other.  In a word, they were principled when it came to me.

Unlike my parents, however, I chose to marry and begin a family in wedlock. My marriage lasted nearly seven years and we were fortunate to have two amazing children.  Though insurmountable challenges ended our marriage, I knew that new challenges lied ahead.  Fortunately, I had a sustainable model to turn to for direction; my “broken home.”

Fanon Wilkins, Ph.D.

Fanon Che joined the planet when the 6 met 9 and the 7 saw its reflection in a pool of water wedged between concrete and opportunity in the City of Angels. When the screams dissipated and the boy was put on a scale, Pops, a 1965 Watts Rebellion alumnus, told the nurse that this one would be named Fanon Che-fah’show. Ms. Nurse asked Pha-who? and Pops reminded her that these were revolutionaries from Martinique and Argentina who grew restless in the face of imperialist domination and colonial exploitation. Six months after lil’ man hit the sand, Moms broke out to Cuba (VENCEREMOS!) to cut cane and increase her revolutionary resolve. Pops held it down, but when the smoke cleared, Pops and Moms agreed to split and lil’ man went South way before the ATL was full of Outkasts and the Good Died Mostly Over Bullsh@t. Now the Durdy had a lot going for it. Mom’s got her full Lenin on working at a shirt factory with the idea of organizing workers at the point of production. She even did a stint at the phone company climbing them tall ass poles and Standard Oil where she assisted in the mining and management of black gold. Meanwhile, bruh-man attended a liberation school where all of us lil’ freedom fighters chanted before each meal:  (Fist raised) “I WILL EAT ALL MY FOOD, TO GROW BIG AND STRONG, TO WORK IN THE STRUGGLE FOR AFRICAN PEOPLE”–Shonuff’. By second grade it was back to South Central, but by 8 the boy found himself up north in the East Bay riding dirt bikes and eating Lemonheads and Nowalaytas’ on the same streets that Huey, Bobby, and Elaine screamed All Power To The People. By 10 lil’ man was back with Moms in the Durdy and Pops moved to the Big Apple to help aspiring revolutionaries relocate to Tanzania to help build Ujamaa Socialism. When the time came to join Pops in Gotham, ya boy was more than a little scared of the city that never slept because Richard Pryor had told him that if a space ship landed in New York, a ni**&a would take his ship. But undeterred, ya boy found Kurtis Blow to be more inviting than menacing and Sugarhill Gang just brought a smile to his face. So back to South Central he went, telling tall tales about battles he had won and Emcees he had met while he and the fellaz pause-mixed Funkadelic basslines and imitated thier favorite New York Emcees. Now if there was ever a rolling stone, Pops was a restless boulder who thought that greener pastures could be found back in the Durdy. But thangs didn’t work as planned, so it was back to the 213 and somehow, with a little luck, wit, and parental direction (with the help of Moma Joyce), bruh-man managed to survive the infamous Los Angeles Police Department, the Bloods, the Crips, all of the Latino sets, the Los Angeles Unified School District, the Rapid Transit District (The Rough, Tough, and Dangerous) and the Crack scourge. So when Boogie Down Productions dropped Criminal Minded and Ray Charles told anti-apartheid activists to go to hell, ya boy entered the House only fit for a King and made it to the other side while Ice Cube poured out a lil’ something for his dead homies. Now we could end it here, but that would not be fair because somewhere along the way bruh-man actually began believing that he could obtain a Pee-H-Dee. Silly right, well the fool went for it and made a lot of bookies money. And guess what? When the 9 met the 7 and that same 9 saw its reflection in the dew drop that rolled to the tip of the lilly, bruh-man helped two babies into this world and named the girl child after the Brass Saint who wailed “A Love Supreme,” and took the boy’s name from the creolized lips of those who called the yard a “yaad” and said “Irie” when everythang was alright. So where is bruh-man you ask? Still on the move– living, writing and teaching at Doshisha University in Kyoto, Japan. Who knew? The Universe-fah’show:)