It is smog apocalypse year two as I hold Elisa’s hand and cross a busy street in what could be called downtown Beijing. Lydia and Aidan are trailing just behind and I am keeping an eye on them as well. We are not quite half way across the street when a car making a left turn, turns sharply into the cross walk inches from me an Elisa. Cars killing us is inevitable, either through smog or this more expedient behavior. I don’t think this until later. At that moment I am angry and I want to punch a hole through the driver’s side window which was dangerously, yet conveniently close. Elisa is tethered to my right hand which would make the punch difficult so I settle for a glare and a curse. I don’t have the ability to curse in Chinese and the windows are tinted darker than a Hearst so my anger is in vain. Except it felt good. Emotion is good. ...

The daughter learned how to make flowers out of construction paper by watching videos on youku.com. She got frustrated at first but stayed with it since her objective was clear and her motivations were strong. Over the next week she perfected her skills and she made a purple, a green, and a red rose. The red rose was for her father. A few weeks passed and the daughter asked the father to come home for dinner after work, which he did. Sometime later the mother also came home at which time the daughter beamed with excitement. The daughter called for the mother and father and had them face each other. The parents stood two feet apart. The daughter said “ok, give the rose to mommy” and the father did so. “ok, give the flower to dad”, and the mother did so. The daughter then took the father’s arm and placed on the mother’s side and pulled the parents together. She smiled, anxious now, not seeing the result she had so hoped would come through. ...

To my delight, Lydia and Elisa are sitting at the kitchen table and playing tic tac toe. I do not know who is winning. The win for me is that they are playing and not fighting. It’s not that they fight so much as Lydia is a bit hard on her younger sister. Just the other day Lydia called me at work to complain that Elisa had broken the house rule of playing games on the computer for more than an hour straight. Don’t get me wrong, Lydia isn’t Matt on Joe level fighting and with Elisa, Lydia is mostly indifferent to unsupportive. I can only guess which parent that is from. More than guess, I guess. Anyway, on this weekend the girls were sans Aidan who was snowboarding in the US with his mom. Aidan gets the slopes of Aspen; Lydia and Elisa get tic tac toe. It was certainly warmer. Oh, the reason Aidan being away is important is because Aidan and Lydia are super close and when Aidan is around Lydia is harsher to Elisa. It may have to do with Aidan also being super close to Elisa but who am I to say. The father. ...

It was a warm August afternoon along the shoreline in Vancouver and the father strolled along the seashore with his wife and children. It didn’t matter that their home was far, far away. Home was where the family was. The eldest, a boy, wanted some popcorn so they stopped and the father let go of his need to control his middle aging weight and joined in. The mother kept track of the youngest who was barely a year old. ...

I am staring at the mirror and questioning. Questioning the value of gel. I thought it was supposed to make hair look better. Turns out there is a skill to it or at least a skill to making it look bad. Check. Last weekend I decided to go to a haircut place closer to where I live. Aidan helped a little bit with translation (“my dad wants a haircut”) and soon I was whisked away for a hair wash and then seated in front of a mirror staring at my wet, tossed hair. A man with cross between a Jheri Curl and a poodle on his head stood to my side and asked me something in Mandarin. Since he has scissors in his hand I figured he was the barber. I used my hand to show that I wanted my hair line to run above my ears. I thought everything else would be relative but he continued to ask more questions and I continued to point at other parts of my head until he gave up and just started cutting. This made me happy. At first. ...

I’m looking for my voice. It might be under the couch but I feel too stiff to bend down and look under there. It might be in a glass, but I am too worn down from tipping it. It might be on my fork but all I can sense is anticipation. It might be in a new pair of headphones but then I am mute. It might be in a young beauty but then I would have lost all of mine. ...

I am maybe 10 years old, in my childhood home, and bored. It was the age of board games and toys that didn’t connect to the internet. Our family was lucky enough to have an entire closet full of games and toys, yet I was bored. Bored to death. Not uncommon for a 10 year old in those days. I remember the house feeling empty. Maybe my older siblings were out and my younger sibling was out with them. My dad wasn’t home, that I recall for sure. In my boredom I was looking for my mom which wasn’t in general the wisest thing to do when bored. I had been met with “how could you be bored, you have a room full of games” which to her seemed like a luxury. I’m sure it was a luxury to her, compared with her childhood. In any case, I didn’t find her in the kitchen or the living room so I walked up the few steps into her bedroom. She was there. Something seemed “off”. I’m not sure what it was. I asked something like “mom, are you ok?” to which she smiled that “I’m not ok” smile to which I said “mom, it will be ok” or something like that. My memory of the specifics are not real clear, truth be told. What was clear was she was in a down mood and I caught her in it and that somehow just by being in that moment with her I provided some relief. I then retreated down the stairs. Later that day I remember her thanking me. She would mention this event to others over the years as some kind of evidence that my heart was a caring one. Emotionally, it was about as vulnerable as my mom and I were ever to each other which is to say we were not generally very vulnerable with each other. My adult life and relationships with adult women have followed a similar vein, sans one, who is no longer with us. ...

Elisa comes to my room and asks for a story. I am her second choice as Aidan is consumed with a game on his iPad. Elisa sits down and I ask “A story?” to buy myself a little time. I am excited and happy that she asked me as I like the concept of being a story telling father however I really have no idea what story to tell. “Elisa”, I say, “this is the story of the jack rabbit and the bear” and I really have no clue beyond that. Elisa rests her head on my chest. ...

The Father is looking for his phone and feeling a little bit disoriented. Or maybe it is the fact that he is looking for his phone that makes him feel disoriented. He never has to look for his phone, it is always with him. He’s in an excited, calm, refreshing, nervous, anxious mood as he calls out to his kids “wait for me, I need to find my phone”. The kids don’t really know what is going on. To kids, things are not evaluated at the “good”, “bad”, “normal”, “not normal” way that they will eventually think of things as adults. This is not to say kid’s feelings are simple or less complicated. In fact, they are more complicated than the adults for they haven’t learned to shut down or funnel emotions yet. Emotions are raw and joyous and painful and numbing and exciting. It is the Father who is cut off from his emotions. He’s been cut off for some time. ...

Elisa hands in her ticket which is scanned and returned to her. She walks through the gate and waits for me to do the same. I join her, we hold hands, and walk onto Main Street of Hong Kong Disneyland. Elisa in her taboo purchased snow white outfit (ie, not legit) and me in shorts and a Uniqlo superman tee shirt. There is Minnie Mouse under a gazebo with a line of kids waiting to take their picture. I ask Elisa if she wants to and she silently shakes her head no. Not the shy, I really want to kind of NO that I would have done at her age. Just a NO. We instead head up to the train station which is my idea to show her the whole park. We get on the train and make it half way around, to FantasyLand, where we depart. ...