It’s just after 8 in the evening when I finally turn on Netflix, find my next episode of House of Cards, and plop down on the couch.
I need this, I tell myself. This is good. I need this hour to shut down my tired mind.
I’m a man, it turns out, who needs to chill.
It’s been a rough week, but then again, what else is new? This one was no different than most of them anymore. The stakes are always high when you’re a single dad, and my nerves are more or less relentlessly shot.
I hit play and the opening credits roll — theme song and all.
And then boom: My cellphone is ringing the old familiar FaceTime tune. No one calls me on FaceTime except my kids, so right then and there, I know I’m wanted, or needed, by one or maybe two or even all three of my children calling me from 20 miles away at their mom’s house.
I answer the call and it’s Henry, my middle boy. He’s 5 — incredible, tender and wild. And right now he’s crying his face off on my little iPhone screen.
“Henry!” I say. ” Hi man! What’s wrong?!”