How will my kids remember me 20 years from now?
Will they remember the pastas and pancakes and the bedtime stories I cooked up? The swimming sessions and Abba routines?
Or will they remember me as someone who was wasn’t always there when they came back from school? Often for days?
Questions that nag. Especially when I have work-related travel coming up. The kind of work I do involves a fair bit of travel. The more you travel and report, the better it is for a journalist’s profile. I also enjoy the experience of going to different places, meeting people from different backgrounds, eating with them and listening about their lives. Before the kids came, I travelled virtually every week. That’s stopped now, and I have to say I am quite glad. I want to see them before I go to sleep. On an average I travel perhaps 8-9 times a year, never longer than a week at a stretch. I have friends who stay away much longer than that. I bring that up in my head every time my older daughter cries on the phone when I am away.
So when she is 26, will she remember the tears and the loneliness? Or will she understand my need to do my own thing, however small?