When Luca was a baby, before he was even two, I took him to Niagara Falls, NY, to visit my parents. From where I live, our first-ever father/son road trip was seven hours of listening to The Wiggles and Fraggle Rock-like tunes. Unless he was sleeping, of course. That's when I hoped the good music would seep into his subconscious. He was in a car seat on the back passenger seat, wearing his OshKosh B’gosh blue jeans with the elastic waistband, his black Velcro-fastened Pumas, and his very first Buffalo Bills sweatshirt.
Every article of clothing he had could be washed in one load
It was late December 2012, and on our way back to Massachusetts, we hit a snowstorm that I shoulda known was coming. But I didn’t. Somewhere before Albany, NY, on the 1-90 West, the snow was coming down so hard and so fast that traffic was ground to a near halt. I was going 10 miles an hour, and it was nearly 20 miles to the next official rest stop. I was afraid to take an exit – because being stuck was a real possibility. And at least on the thruway, other cars would pass by with fellow drivers who might help me in a real pinch. Saying I was squeezing the steering wheel is far, far from hyperbole.
Ever see this sign with kids in the car who need to use the bathroom? If you know, you know.
It gets worse. His diaper needed to be changed. I could smell it, and it was too cold to open a window for fresher air. He was crying, and I hoped that my singing Toot Toot Toot Chugga Chugga Big Red Car would be enough of a distraction. But it wasn’t. Fourteen years later, nearly to the day, and I can still feel the stress. When we made it to the rest stop, I jumped out of the car, grabbed the baby bag, unbuckled him, and wrapped his little body in his fuzzy, light-green blanket. Then, holding him against my chest, I jumped one foot in front of the other through the snow into the building. He was soaked. His car seat was soaked, and for the first time I felt like I’d failed him in some way. I will admit it in writing right now. I was crying.
A shocking and realistic depiction made by AI.
The baby changing tables in the restrooms – I always thought they were gross. But that night, I thought it was amazing. Baby wipes, hot air dryers, Chicken McNuggets with apple slices. Also amazing. I got a plastic bag to put on his car seat, a hot black coffee, and regrouped for the rest of the journey home. When we got back to my apartment, he was sound asleep – so much so that he didn’t wake up when I had to carry him up three flights of stairs and get him to his bed, where I covered him up in his blankets and made sure his stuffed bear was under his arm, should he have woken up. I remember standing there for a an extra couple of seconds, watching him sleep. I was exhausted. My back hurt, and I had spent the better part of the previous several hours wondering whether I was going to get my little dude home safely. I did it, and there he was. Warm, dry and safe. His little chest rising and falling, his bear tucked under his arm, without a care in the world. As far as he was concerned, everything was just fine. And I suppose it was. Because his dad had taken care of it.
I can’t believe I am about to write this next sentence. But it is true. Those were easy days. To anyone with a toddler right now, that sounds absurd. Sleepless nights, temper tantrums, ear infections, and diaper haz-mat experiences leave marks on us. But they're simple. When they’re cold, we cover them. When they’re hungry, we feed them. When he was scared, I held him. And amidst a snowmageddon storm, a fuzzy green blanket and some McNuggets were all it took.
Five-dollar OshKosh jeans are now a $150 Fear of God Essentials sweatshirt. Velcro Pumas became Yeezy Slides, no more Wiggles. It’s Kanye now. The stuffed Mount Wachusett Community College bear that Luca got as a gift from my friend Pati Gregson is still here…believe it or not. And Chicken McNuggets…against my dietary hopes and dreams for him, he still devours those. And the little boy who found solace being held against my chest now feels all that love and care in the form of countless approved Venmo requests.
Time flew, and lately I’ve been thinking about where it all went. For me, most of it was spent in offices, at budget meetings. On the phone, texting non-stop, and answering emails. Lots and lots of emails. Work was so terribly important, and when work didn’t give me enough for all the expenses, I decided to work some more – driving for Uber and Lyft after he went to sleep. I spent years trying to be successful, trying to make a difference, trying to prove something to people who, in many cases, wouldn't spit on me to put out the flames if I were set on fire. And while I was doing all of that, my little boy was growing up.
It’s not like I wasn’t there. Because I was. I’d haul ass from my office at the end of the day to get to the ball field. Or I’d use vacation and personal time to read a book to him in his class. I tried to get him into peewee wrestling, but I wound up coaching a bunch of other kids while he sat on the side of the mat and watched. I cooked special meals as often as I could – and as much as I could be, I was there. But there's a difference between being there and realizing, while you're there, just how quickly it's all slipping away. Nobody tells us that part.
I don’t remember the last time I carried him from the car to his bed, and I wish I had known just when it would be the last time. Because instead of stopping to appreciate it, I am sure I was pissed I’d have to go back to the car to get his stuff. Had I known, I would have taken an extra minute to hold him before I put him down. The problem is that you don’t know it’s the last time. We always think we’ll do it again tomorrow. Until we don’t.
Then real life kicks in. A crushed career. The death of his mom. The failing health of my own parents. Nothing a fuzzy green blanket and fast food at a rest stop can fix. That’s what hurts now. That I spent so much time worrying about things that ultimately didn't matter, while the one thing that did matter was growing like a tree right in front of me. No money, no success, or recognition is going to get me one more day with little man in his OshKosh jeans.
For sure, being a good parent still means a roof over their heads, food on the table, and the best school system our property taxes can buy. Today, I just wish I knew the most valuable thing I could give isn’t what goes via Venmo. Time, unlike money, once it's spent…it’s gone, and we can’t get more. Who’d have thought the terror of that snowstorm could wind up being something I missed? That night I wanted to get home faster. If I got to do it again, I wouldn’t rush.