New Ghosts on Father's Day by Will Duchon

I pull into my driveway on a dark Sunday evening after driving my two kids 40 
miles to where they live with their mother and her husband. The headlights spot 
a football lying motionless in the yard, from when my son and I had been playing 
earlier in the sunlight. That seems long ago now. I walk into the dark 
apartment. It is quiet, and very still. I see my daughter's used tissues and 
hairbrush lying near the bathroom sink from the morning. An empty juice box sits 
on the bedroom floor near the TV, where my son was watching basketball. Wadded 
up paper by the computer where my daughter was working on a school report. As I 
clean up, it feels as if I'm erasing the events of the weekend themselves, 
erasing the time together. And the pain and fear that is so familiar rises up 
within; the doubts about ever spending good moments together again (why do I 
always feel this way?). The subtle worries about what I may have missed, or 
questions I should have asked. And always wondering whether or not they are both 
OK. The distance between my children and myself is not just a physical distance, 
but an emotional distance as well. The bond I want with them must be formed 
sporadically, through our time together, over the phone, through letters and 
cards by mail and by e-mail. At a time when they naturally are striving out on 
their own, finding their way and their individuality, this separation becomes 
even more troubling for me as their father. I know that I am not alone in these 
experiences. Other divorced fathers have shared very similar stories of their 
own visitation ghosts, and their own frustrations.

For divorced fathers living apart from their children, the advent of Father's 
Day brings a reinforced sense of separation and pain. In fact, every special 
occasion, and every holiday is tainted with a bittersweet quality. Each 
birthday, every Thanksgiving and Christmas that passes is yet another occasion 
spent either apart from our children, or if not, the few hours together at such 
times brings the year-long separation into a sharper focus. For many divorced 
fathers, the holidays are spent trying to anxiously create a meaningful 
Thanksgiving, or Christmas, or Hanukkah within a very short amount of time. This 
time together with our children is coldly referred to as "visitation", a legal 
term, which evokes unpleasant similarities to the experience of "visiting" a 
prison inmate, or someone in the hospital. We "visit" friends, and "visit" 
distant relatives, but what a sad situation it is to feel as if a father is 
"visiting" with his own children; his own flesh and blood. It is a very 
interesting testament to American culture. In this day and age of heightened 
awareness, and sensitivity to "issues" of racism, sexism, and all levels of 
cultural and economic disparity, the reality is this: the relationship between a 
father and his children is minimized. Certainly, the Family Court system 
minimizes this relationship, as fathers are seen as merely providers (or 
non-providers) of child support. The reward for financial responsibility is then 
being granted the honor of "visitation". And which members of society, except 
for violent criminals maybe, are viewed more detestably than so-called "deadbeat 
Dads"? Of course, there are irresponsible fathers, (and believe it or not, 
irresponsible mothers, too). But the facts reveal that there are far more 
responsible and caring, nurturing fathers, who are in essence discouraged from 
maintaining meaningful contact and involvement with their children. I have a 
treasure of "visitation" memories; what I call the ghosts of visitation. When my 
son and I throw a football together, or shoot baskets outside on a Saturday 
afternoon, those moments are sacred to me. The usual sense of unrest and anxiety 
that I feel all during the weeks that we are apart is temporarily lifted, as I 
know that he is OK, and that I am there with him, to protect him, and to sense 
anything that might be troubling to him. I can look at his homework papers. I 
can make breakfast for him, and wash his clothes, and wrestle with him or just 
hang out with him. The truth is, that I feel peace of mind, because I believe 
that being with my son, or daughter, is completely natural, and being separated 
from them from the time that they were 5 and 3 years of age is entirely 
unnatural. The ghosts of visitation. Remnants and reminders of our time 
together. Where then can hope be found, and how can renewal and new beginnings 
take place for divorced fathers and their children? My personal belief system 
tells me that renewal begins within, through prayer and shared experience. For 
too many years good fathers have been victimized by a dreadfully insensitive 
court system, which virtually ignores the emotional experience of separation 
from our own children, and compounds the problem by encouraging confrontation 
rather than healing. The element of healing is completely absent from my long 
experience with the Family Court system; not only for fathers but for mothers as 
well. What happens then is that as a divorced father I can easily begin to buy 
into the notion that beyond mere financial support, I am unnecessary to my 
children's development and lives, and therefore should follow suit and politely 
withdraw from my role as a father. I believe that many, many fathers have done 
this, consciously, or unconsciously. But again, that inner voice tells me over 
and over not to give up. So the focus for me must remain on my children, despite 
any external influences to the contrary. And at times when I feel farthest apart 
from them both, I think back, back to those early mornings years ago, when I 
held them both in my arms in the middle of the night, giving them their bottles, 
or just rocking them gently. It was during those moments that I found truth as I 
looked into their eyes, and they looked back into mine; the truth that we were 
and always will be one, divinely connected. We always will be family.


Will Duchon June, 2001