Raising Two Americans

Dylan is growing up.

I’ve been in Reno, Nev., for five weeks now, away from my family. While I have learned a lot at the editing program and thoroughly enjoyed my stay in “The Biggest Little City in the World,” I’m ready to go home.

Early on, my trip was a lot harder on Brooke and the kids than it was on me. While I missed them, she was at home having to make things work without me with two kids and a job and all the responsibilities that go both.

But now, I’m ready to be back.

We talk on the phone semi-regularly. We exchange numerous e-mails a day. And my wife is blogging, so I get to read how her day goes. But it doesn’t make up for the things you’re supposed to be there for.

My little girl has her first two teeth and I haven’t seen them yet. She’s been sick the last couple of days and it hurts to hear her cough when I’m on the phone with them.

I’ve never been away from my little boy, Dylan, for this long. Previously, the longest time I had spent away was a little less than a week. This time, he came to the airport with me to say goodbye, but in the name of increased security, he couldn’t see me get on the plane or watch my plane take off from the terminal.

A few days after I left, I got a phone call from my wife at an unscheduled time. The realization had hit Dylan that Daddy was a long way away, and he was worried I wouldn’t be coming back and I had to calm a crying child from more than 2,000 miles away.

About two weeks ago he called me to ask how long would it be before I came home. “How many days?” he asked. “Twenty-one,” I answered.

But for the most part, he’s taken it well. We talk on the phone and he ends every conversation with, “Be careful coming home,” which is his way of saying good night, just like he does each night when I’m at work.

But two days ago my wife threw me a curve. As it is, I think she sends me e-mails and writes blog posts with one specific goal, to see if she can make me cry. And sometimes she does. But this was new.

I opened my e-mail inbox and there was a surprise for me: an e-mail from an address with my son’s name attached to it, rather than my wife’s. I opened it, and this is what it said: