R J Hembree - Writers' Village University

give a damn what anyone else thinks, nannies and mothers included, many of
whom believe a solitary man not into socializing must be an oddball. So I stay
within myself, and try to work, and occasionally I am rude to those like PG who
don’t take the hint. But I am not rude today, and I don’t know why. I decide to be
pleasant. Maybe I am getting soft; I am, indeed, often weak. We chat about stupid
things, and I find him full of himself, yet he is a good father, the best compliment I
could give to any man. Isaac, suddenly, greets me with a big hug, and I happily
turn my attention to my son. No one will deny me that. I wave goodbye to PG as I
allow Isaac to lead me to freedom.
Isaac and I drop off Aaron at Taekwondo; I will pick up Aaron in one hour.
Meanwhile, I walk with Isaac to our apartment, and my back is hurting because
my laptop weighs about thirty pounds, with the books and papers I also stuff into
its case. Isaac’s Hebrew lesson begins at home, and I take the opportunity to walk
Aaron to Taekwondo. The Hebrew teacher is fine with Isaac at home, and I do
trust her. I walk Aaron back to our apartment, another fifteen blocks. I calculated
the other day that I walk roughly between three to four miles each day, for exercise,
errands, lessons for the boys, playdates, groceries. Aaron then has his own
Hebrew lesson, while Isaac finishes his homework. Eventually, our exuberant
Hebrew teacher leaves, and the boys finish their homework at their desks,
occasionally shouting “Dad! Could you come over here?” or “I don’t understand
this!” or “Should I do what’s due on Thursday too?” I cook dinner, and feel like a
servant. ‘Sergio’ in Latin means ‘to serve,’ ‘servant,’ or ‘soldier.’ Yes, I am the
soldier of this house. When my wife Laura walks in at 7:30 p.m. from her job at
the bank, I am slumped on the sofa, having finished washing the dishes from
dinner and preparing the coffee pot for tomorrow morning. The kids are watching
TV. I am exhausted; my head throbs. Aaron and Isaac will not be asleep before
9:30, their bedtime, and Laura and I will go to bed at a few minutes before
midnight. I imagine the bed as another sanctum, my deep sleep a bucolic
rejuvenation, but for what? The Eternal Recurrence of this day?
Should I turn away from my children, from Laura? I sometimes think I
should, simply to get more work done. I have this friend of mine who is gay and a
writer, and he doesn’t have any serious attachments for very long. He tells me
about them, a new boyfriend, another one, he’s in love, and then he’s not. It’s a
merry-go-round. I have another friend, also a writer, but older, and he dates 21year-old
college students for a few months, women less than half his age, and
leaves them, or they leave him, and he’s alone. Then his particular tilt-a-whirl
begins again. These two writers know each other, and hate each other, but they
are actually similar as persons. They think about themselves first and foremost,
they are talented writers, they love an entourage, and they are obsessively
materialistic. They envy me, and my family, they both like Laura and my children;
they also indirectly criticize me for focusing as much on my family as on my
writing. I envy them for their independent lives, for their literary production, for
their so-casual treatment of their lovers. First and foremost is their work, and the
promotion of their work, and their bragging about their work. They love to talk
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