Fathers and Sons

When you are in the beginning stages of dating a man with kids, a good guy will try to keep his love life separate from his home life. Not to say that a guy who introduces a love interest to his progeny right away is a bad guy per se, but I personally don't think it's appropriate to introduce your kids to a new lover in the very beginning. It's one thing if it's not a common occurrence, but some people have multiple relationships a year, which has to be confusing for young kids. In my opinion, a good guy will wait until he's sure the relationship is solid first. When the time does come for you to meet the kids, it should be a sign that the relationship is becoming less casual and moving into more serious territory. While not usually as stressful as meeting the parents, meeting the kids isn't always a walk in the park either. After all, these are the people that will always come before you, who will always be his top priority. In my opinion, the better the father, the longer before he introduces you. If I had kids, especially young kids, I wouldn't want to introduce a prospective partner until I was sure that that person was someone that I wanted in my life potentially for the long-term.

A couple of weeks ago, my dryer died. It could not have happened at a worse time: I've been battling a flea infestation since July; to combat that, I've been changing my bedding more frequently, especially since my cats like to sleep on the bed with me. When my dryer died, I was onto my last set of clean sheets et al, and in lieu of a comforter, my remaining sherpa blanket. As fall continues to settle in and turns to winter, my apartment will get colder and colder.

There is a laundromat a few blocks from my apartment, but going new places and doing new things is a major trigger for my anxiety. I know it's as simple as walking in, putting my stuff in a dryer, and waiting for it to be done, but I'm absolutely terrified I'll mess up somehow and will look like an idiot. Usually when branching out, I have a friend go with me a time or two just to make sure I've got it down and then I'm good to go. At the very least, I'm grateful that my washing machine still works.

That Monday night, I was just completing my weekly chores: cleaning the bathroom, washing the shower, mopping, changing the litter boxes, etc, when I realized that I had run out of clean work clothes. I considered washing them and then leaving them out to air dry, but I wasn't sure that that was such a good idea. Not only would my cats lay all over them and leave mounds of hair, I didn't want to go to work smelling musty. I hadn't heard from Max yet that day, so I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone: I'd get to talk to him, and I'd also see if he would go with me to the laundromat. After all, nothing says romance like drying underwear together.

As it turned out, Max had a dryer in his apartment, but he couldn't let me use it that night. He explained to me that the apartment complex he lives at has very strict rules about running machinery after dark; it was too late to ask his downstairs neighbor if she was okay with it, but he said that if I wanted to come by before work the following day I was more than welcome to use his dryer. I don't like to feel like I'm taking advantage of people, but I definitely wanted to spend more time with Max. I knew his kids would be home, but he assured me that it would be fine. He did warn me, though, that he wouldn't be overly affectionate because growing up, his father had brought new girlfriends around frequently and he didn't want to do that to his boys, which I totally understood. It wasn't until he mentioned that his sister would be over, too, that I got a little nervous. She and I had talked briefly once, but I don't feel like I make a great first impression; I'm incredibly awkward. I spend more time trying to figure out what to say to seem normal that I just end up making myself look even more bizarre. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy. Still, I couldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

The next morning, I woke up earlier than usual so I would have time to wash the clothes, shave, and run to his place before work. I had debated for a long time what to wear. I didn't want to get all dolled up in Versace or Roberto Cavalli just to come across as arrogant or elitist, but I also didn't want to throw on sweatpants and look like a slob. In the end, I decided on a cute pair or acid washed bellbottoms, a 3/4 sleeve top by Zara, and a cute white lacy jacket I'd gotten from Forever 21. I figured it was the perfect ensemble for a soft introduction to three of the most important people in his life: cute, casual, but still stylish and elegant.

I was nervous as I parked in front of his apartment block, but I forced myself to carry my hamper of clean clothes up the steps and knock on his door. Just relax and be yourself, I told myself. He already likes you -- somewhat -- so that's half the battle. Maybe just tone down the flamboyant opulence until you know Ember better.

Max opened the door, and I immediately felt my anxiety dissipate. He wouldn't let me make a fool of myself; he smiled at me so adoringly that I innately knew that everything would be all right. As I stepped inside, I noticed that his sister was not, in fact, visiting. It was just the two of us and the boys. I had a package in my hamper; I'd brought it in case things got uncomfortable. If needed, I could distract myself with my new coat. As I set my hamper down, his oldest son, Vaughn, rushed over with a big grin on his face. He pointed at the package; I told him it was my new coat. Then, to my surprise, he threw his arms around my legs and squeezed. I looked at Max, not because I was uncomfortable or didn't know what to do, but because he didn't even know me. Vaughn, almost five, had been diagnosed with autism fairly early. Max told me that he had taught himself how to read, which I thought was incredible.

My brother was also diagnosed with autism early on, but his case is way more severe. It made me happy to know that Max wouldn't have to live the hell that my mother lives as the primary caregiver of my brother; he has seizures so severely that he stops breathing. He can't be left alone for more than a few minutes. At twenty-two, he's perpetually stuck at about four, mentally.

Max took me back to his dryer, started it for me. "I wish you'd let me give you some money," I said, shuffling uncomfortably on my feet.

"Why? I'm just letting you use my dryer," Max pointed out, shrugging as he opened the dryer door.

"I know, but that costs money. That's going to raise your electric bill."

"Oooh, ten cents! How will I ever pay that?" he joked, putting me somewhat at ease.

We sat down with the boys. His younger son, Lenox, was almost three, and very shy. While Vaughn had brown hair, Lenox had light blond hair; I knew that the boys had different mothers, but Max's hair was so dark that I'd just assumed that both of his boys would have it too. He sat on Max's lap, fully engaged with whatever he was playing or watching on Max's phone. Vaughn, however, was on a tablet, but came and stood by me. "What happened to your glasses?" he asked, giggling. I'd forgotten that I'd taken my sunglasses off once I was inside.

"I took them off. They're sunglasses, so the sun doesn't hurt my eyes," I explained. Vaughn seemed to accept this and went back to his tablet. He stayed close by me, which I didn't mind. Strangely enough, I felt more comfortable with Vaughn than I did with most anyone else that I encounter on a daily basis.

Max started playing a card game on his PS5 while I watched. I don't know anything about card games; the only card game I'd played as a kid was a card matching game that I'm fairly sure was just something my aunt came up with to entertain me.

While we made small talk, Vaughn came up and started running his fingers along the fringe on the thigh and knees of my jeans. Max told him to stop, but I assured him that it was okay. My brother has a thing with necklaces; he loves to sit and roll the chain in his fingers. As long as it wasn't like the time in high school that I'd been sitting in my pajama pants and my brother ran up, threw his head forward into my lap and gnashed his teeth onto the foreskin of my penis, anything was fine. For some reason, kids have always liked me, which is ironic, because with the exception of a rare few, I'm not a fan of crotch goblins.

As Max and I continued to talk, Vaughn would frequently interrupt to ask me what had happened in the videos he was watching. I get overstimulated easily; having multiple people talking to me at once makes me crash out. I didn't want to rude, so I focused on Vaughn instead of Max; Max is old enough to be able to understand, plus, I was building a rapport with Vaughn. Although he was only five, I wanted him to like me, not because it would potentially make Max like me more, but because he felt like a kindred soul in an odd way.

Eventually, I moved to the couch so that Vaughn could sit in the gaming chair next to Max. Before long, Vaughn came to sit by me on the couch, which I took as a good sign. At one point, he moved very close to me, pointed at my nose and asked, "what happened to your nose?"

I laughed. Not only is my nose big, but it's also crooked. Getting hit directly on the nose with a baseball when I was nineteen did little to help with the issue, nor my deviated septum. "It's my Jew nose. It's crooked," I teased.

"Your nick-a nick-a nose!" Vaughn giggled, thrashing excitedly on the couch. The more I interacted with him, the more I liked him. If I was able to have interactions like that with my brother, I might feel differently toward him.

While Max was checking on my clothes, Lenox picked up two plastic skeleton arms and started growling at me. I took this as a sign that he was starting to warm up to me, so I acted scared, shivering and covering my face. Through his growls, Lenox was grinning broadly, his blond hair bouncing as he shuffled toward me menacingly. Max told me later that Vaughn -- despite his autism -- is very personable, especially if you're a male. He was surprised that Lenox had warmed to me so quickly, because he tended to be more shy.

After an hour or so, my clothes were done. As much as I didn't want to, I was going to have to leave and go into work. I'd much rather have stayed and hung out with the boys, just being silly. I emptied my clothes into the hamper and carried it back into the living room. "Where are you going?" Vaughn asked, looking up at me expectedly.

"Unfortunately, buddy, I have to go to work now. I'd much rather stay here and play with you," I replied; I was being sincere. I was having a lovely time getting to know Max's kids; I was so relieved that they weren't demons. There is no way I could have a relationship with a man with kids if they were little assholes.

"Work?"

"Yeah. I have to go make pizza and try not to die from the heat."

Even though it was the end of September, we had gotten another heatwave as summer refused to die out gracefully. It wasn't bad at night, but at work, in the kitchen and the two five-hundred-degree ovens, it tended to be fifteen to twenty degrees warmer.

"Pizza!" he exclaimed happily.

"Maybe your daddy will bring you in to get some pizza some time."

"Yeah!"

"Daddy is broke as fuck right now," Max muttered with a sigh. I liked that he wasn't one of those parents who didn't swear around his children; I had grown up in a househole where the word 'fuck' was thrown around like it was nothing, so swearing had come quite naturally to me in the sixth grade.

"Well, it's a good thing you know the manager, then, huh?" I asked, smirking. "We can work out a payment plan or something."

"Okay," Max relented. "If you boys want pizza for dinner, we'll go get pizza."

Vaughn and Lenox started dancing around excitedly and I couldn't help but smile. I could get used to this wonderful family dynamic. If Max wanted me to, that is. I understand that having a relationship while being a single parent has to be extremely hard. I wasn't even sure how the boys' mothers would feel about Max being with a man, let alone having him around the kids. That's a bridge we'd have to cross when we got to it, I figured.

"Walk me out?" I asked, hoping to sneak a kiss or two while the boys were distracted with their happy dance.

"Yeah, I can," Max said, following me out the door. We stood on the landing and chatted for a few minutes, but then I realized that if I didn't leave, I'd be late to work, and that is a cardinal sin for me. Max said he'd see me later, and then headed in. I was disappointed that I hadn't gotten a kiss, or at the very least a hug, but I understood that it could be hard for him to switch out of dad-mode.

A few hours later, Max called and ordered. I was in the back making dough, but I came up to the kitchen and kept an eye out for him. Max had only come to see me at work one other time, back when we initially started talking. He'd been a little tipsy that night; I'd hoped that him coming to see me at work would become a regular thing. After all, what kids don't like pizza? I like seeing people who make my heart happy while I'm at work.

I spotted him walking in and went up the counter. Unfortunately, there were people out in the lobby waiting for their order, but we shared secret smiles and talked under our breath. As a thank you not only for letting me use his dryer, but also for being so kind to me, I gave Max the employee discount on his order. I would have just let him have it all for free, but as a small business in this chaotic economy I can't be as generous as I'd like to be.

Max lingered for a second, looking at me affectionately. We couldn't kiss or anything because, even though the person waiting had left, another few people were walking in; the last thing I wanted was for my boss to get a complaint that I was messing around with my, whatever Max is, instead of doing my job. Instead, he puckered his lips and smiled. I repeated the gesture as he was walking out. The woman behind him had seen, but thankfully, she smiled, clearly not bothered.

Later that week, I got up the courage to ask Max if he wanted to do something with me for my birthday, which was in a few weeks. I've never gone out and done anything with a special guy on my birthday; usually I just work. The last time I did anything fun on my birthday was three years ago when my cousin and I had gone to New York and I'd gotten the extreme privilege of seeing Lea Michele in Funny Girl. Surprisingly, Max was game and started looking at things to do in the area.

I was touched and started gushing; telling him that I wanted boyfriend treatment on my special day. He didn't reply right away and I remembered that we aren't dating. We'd been on one date, but a second date had yet to happen. I didn't want to scare him off by acting like I thought he was my boyfriend, especially since he hadn't given any indication that he wanted to progress our courtship beyond the point we had already done.

I apologized and admitted that I shouldn't have said what I did. He asked me why I was sorry. I replied that I was sorry because we weren't technically dating and I didn't want to project that onto him if he didn't want it, and I certainly didn't want to scare him off. He assured me that he wasn't freaked out by it and that he was perfectly happy to give me boyfriend treatment on my birthday. He said that yes, we weren't offical, but explained that he was giving me time to figure out what I wanted from this. I found that odd. I'd make it abundantly clear what I wanted out of our courtship, hadn't I? I knew that I tended to play aloof, but I was certain that I'd given Max all of the green lights. I'd put in the work maintaining text conversations, I'd offered to drive him home from work, we'd held hands, kissed, and cuddled. I'd thought that I'd make it pretty clear that I was his for the cuffing.

I wanted to ask him what he wanted from this, but instead I said that all I really knew was that he didn't want me to sleep with other people, which was understandable.

He texted back saying that I had misunderstood him. While we were in an undefined relationship, he couldn't demand or expect exclusivity; that would be extremely toxic. He said that he was fine with me doing whatever as long as I didn't rub it in his face. It wasn't exactly the answer that I wanted, but I also understood that this was his first foray into a gay relationship. It wouldn't be fair for me to rush him into anything, especially since we had only been on one date. Unfortunately, I am someone who thrives with labels and clearly defined boundaries. Not only is my closet organized by label: one rack for Versace, one for Lagerfeld, and one for extraneous pieces like Roberto Cavalli, Christian Lacroix, Hugo Boss, Armani, Kenzo, and Hugo Boss. I am a label queen. While those labels serve as battle armor for me, I need labels in my interpersonal relatiosnhips as well. With my anxiety and general inability to interact with people in any normal fashion, I need labels so that I know how to act, how much time to invest, how attached to get. I don't ever want to be overly attached to someone who doesn't care if I'm in their life or not, not again, not after Terrence. But if I wanted Max, I had to respect his point of view and take the chance that just because we were deviating from my self-forged path, that didn't mean that we couldn't make our own, alternate route to get to the finish line.

I decided that since we were now in an undefined relationship, it was time to tell him about my column, especially since he was part of it. I didn't want to continue to write about us if he wasn't comfortable with it. It would suck if he didn't want me to write about us any longer, especially since the column is at heart about my dating life, but I would respect his wishes. Thankfully, he gave me permission and read a few of my posts. As it turned out, he enjoyed them.

With my thirty-fifth birthday quickly approaching, I'm trying to enter into a new era in my life. I don't want to be weighed down with previous traumas, tethered to past. Yes, my life hasn't always gone the way that I foresaw it going, I haven't always gotten what I wanted; I've been hurt, let down, abandoned, betrayed, but it's my decision to fester in that or move past it and try to make a brighter, healthier future for myself. I don't want to end up like my dad, bitter because he hadn't gotten what he wanted in life, or to live the hellish existence of my mother: trapped in a loveless marriage, her whole life revolving around caring for my brother. I've strived for one thing my whole life: happiness. I don't want to give that ideal up; I don't want to focus on the bad things that have happened. I want to step into the sun and embrace the happiness that comes my way. After all, life is so short. On my death bed, I don't want to look back on my life with regrets, but with contentment, humor, love, and some fancy designer labels.