Jonathan
I close my eyes and count to ten, hoping that when I open them, everything will be different. But no. I open my eyes, and the chaos at home is still there, unchanged.
—“Daddyyyy!”
—“Daddyyyy!”
—“Ahhhh!”
When one of my kids starts crying, the other two follow suit. It’s like a switch flips on, and the rest automatically join in.
Tom is sobbing in my arms.
Max is sprawled on the floor, flailing his arms and legs while wailing, and Sally, the oldest, has a face red with tears as she starts throwing things onto the ground.
—“Kids, please… calm down.”
This is absolute madness.
I take a deep breath as I hear the banging on the walls, the floor, even the door.
The neighbors are yelling again, demanding that my kids quiet down.
I open the door, still holding my crying son in my arms, and come face-to-face with the neighbor, glaring at me with fury in her eyes.
—“If you don’t get those kids under control, I’m calling child services. It’s outrageous that they never stop screaming. We can’t take it anymore, and I’m asking you to move out of this apartment as soon as possible. Do you understand me?”
I nod silently and close the door, resting my forehead against it.
Breathe.
Once again, I have to move, and I don’t even know how long I’ll last in the next place.
We’ve moved six times in the last three months.
No one can stand the racket my kids make day and night.
Our belongings stay in boxes; I don’t even bother unpacking anymore.
I’m a single dad. My wife left me alone with our kids and walked out right after giving birth to our third child.
Two months later, she died in a tragic accident.
Before coming to the city, I lived in a small town in Northern California. I’m the youngest of three siblings, from a humble family, and I knew Carmen my whole life.
In a small town, you tend to know everyone, especially when there’s only one school. It’s the classic story you read in books: the popular girl and the jock, with a bright future ahead. I was on track for a college scholarship—if I hadn’t been so reckless and given in to temptation.
Carmen got pregnant right away, and I had to marry her.
Her family was one of the wealthiest in the area, and they weren’t about to let me head off to college and leave their daughter behind. So, I gave up the scholarship and stayed to take responsibility for my actions.
I started working on my parents’ farm, but there wasn’t much to do there, so I had to look for jobs elsewhere. Eventually, I landed a gig with a construction company that was building a new development in town.
Our town has a huge lake that draws tourists during vacation season, so the area was growing, with new houses being built to sell or rent.
I started in construction and learned the trade thanks to a great mentor who taught me everything I know today.
Carmen and I lived on her mother’s property in a house I built myself, but for my wife, it was never enough. I worked late into the night, coming home exhausted. My wife didn’t like birth control—she said it made her gain weight—so we often used condoms. But there were times when passion got the better of us, and she’d end up pregnant again.
When she got pregnant with our third child, she was furious and threatened to have an abortion. I begged and pleaded with her not to, and eventually, I convinced her to keep the baby. Still, she had already started going out with her friends more often, and after giving birth to our third, she left me and our family.
And everything fell apart.
Some days, I’d show up late to work because I had to drop the kids off with my parents or sisters-in-law, and other times, I couldn’t make it at all. Things got complicated, and I ended up losing my job right around the time Carmen died in that accident.
Her family came down on me hard, blaming me for the tragedy, saying I wasn’t a good husband and that’s why my wife ran off with someone else.
A singer from a bar who walked away from the accident unscathed.
They kicked me off their property.
I got fired from my job.
I was left without a wife, and my kids without their mother.
I didn’t know what to do, especially when my ex’s mother started pressuring me to hand over my kids—something I’d never do. So, my last resort was to leave the town where I was born and start over in the city. But it hasn’t been easy.
I drag my feet to the kitchen and pour bowls of milk and cereal. Just like that, as quickly as it started, my kids quiet down.
As I said, when one starts, the others follow. When one stops, the others do too.
Sally, being the oldest, is the leader. She stops crying and sits at the table. Her little brother Max follows her lead, and I set my baby down in his high chair. The three of them eat in silence, their eyes still red from crying, but with small smiles on their lips.
I know my kids shouldn’t just be eating cereal. But what can I do? It seems like that’s all their mother ever fed them. No matter how hard I try to get them to eat something else, it’s impossible. They only want candy, cereal, cakes, and other junk I know isn’t good for them. I also have a serious issue with water—they’re terrified of it. They hate being bathed, and when I try, they burst into tears.
If they don’t eat what they want, they cry.
If you try to bathe them, they cry.
If you tell them to do something, they cry.
They cry over everything, and that’s why we’ve had to move out of every tiny rental space we’ve managed to find, time and time again.
I sit there watching them, smiling at each other, and it’s the fuel that keeps me from breaking down in this moment.