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I wake up Elisa at 6:40am and she starts to get out of bed. I turn back to the living room to say bye to Aidan and Lydia who are leaving for school together. I had been expecting they would be growing further apart but they seem to be getting closer this past year. Elisa dresses and doesn’t want to eat breakfast, which is normal. We go downstairs, I order a car via Didi, and we wait five minutes for it to arrive. I have a busy day in front of me and am in A go mode. Elisa is not. The car arrives and during the 10 minute drive she teases me about my bald spot, my belly, my intellect. I tease her back. When we get to her school two things cross my mind. The first, is a recurring one, the gratitude I have for these moments. Even though my weekly single dadum is five years in, I often reflect back on the moment I figured out I could swing it with my work schedule. And how that changed everything for me. And it’s a lot easier now than when I started since the kids are older. My second thought is, I recall my dad ever walking me to school. Not a complaint, just a realization. And then I’m walking to the subway thinking of my father. I’ve been wanting to write about him, and have tried to, but I keep losing the narrative, so I stop. I hope and expect that someday I will because I do want my kids to have a sense, a 360 degree sense, of where they came from. And just for my own personal story. I want to tell them that their grandfather had an edge. That like me, people didn’t see him relaxed often. That like me, he cared about things. That his life was a journey and the man he was when I was born wasn’t the man he was when he died. That he became more self aware or at least incorporated that awareness into his actions. I want them to know that we were all afraid of him and with reason. And I hope they are not afraid of me although I know sometimes Aidan is. I want them to know that my dad showed up. That he couched my baseball teams, came to my basketball games, got me a job in college. But I also want them to know he didn’t really seem to enjoy any of these things. That coaching baseball never seemed like fun to him, just a responsibility. I want to tell them that he worked 24 hours shifts as a fireman. That he would work day on, day off, day on, day off, day on, three days off. That we would track the days when he worked for we could breathe on those days. And we would dread when the three or four days off in a row came. I want them to know that my relationship with my father was complicated. He was my dad. He cared. It came out in ways. ...

I’m not sure when the dreams started or many of the details. But I remember the sense of fear and the inevitable sense of being destroyed. They would start out with me in the backyard of my parents house. I would be by myself, playing. But not at play. Tense. Something was coming. Then I move to the side of the house, behind the red wooden gate that I could not see past. Dread. Something was coming. I would then be in the house, the garage and then downstairs. Something was coming. I was alone in the house. I would go upstairs thinking it was safer. I would look out the kitchen window towards the street. I would be overwhelmed with fear; the presence of something coming. I would move to the tv room but the sense of something coming was so strong I would not stay and I would go into the middle of the house. But then I would not know if it was inside the house so I would go back towards the windows and hide. Often this is how the dream would end and I would wake up knowing that whatever was out there was going to one day get me. I was convinced of it even as the dream faded and I awoke to full consciousness. I went about life, denying that day was coming, until the next time the dream came. In other variations of the dream, I would venture out of the house and onto the street. There would be a car coming that I’d think was friendly and then realize was not. At times I felt it was lingering on the hill across from the house, in human form, waiting to come and get me. What was sure, was it would get me. Sometimes I’d be crouched on the stairs like we used to wait on Christmas morning but the biggest fear was the front of the house. The front rooms windows looking towards the street. It was coming. I feel this dream has been with me a long time but peaked after I moved to Beijing and after my third child, Elisa was born. It would recognize the dream signs early on and ride it out until I knew whatever it was, was going to get me. The dreams stopped a few years back. I didn’t really notice, like one doesn’t notice a sprained ankle healed. Occasionally it would dawn on me that I wasn’t having the dream and it would be a relief. Last month, I stayed at my parents house for the last time. They have both passed away now and it’s time to discard the things we no longer want and sell the house. The dream returned to me a couple of nights ago. But I wasn’t afraid. I walked around the backyard, the side of the house, and then inside. I was an observer, guiding my dream self to look around. The sense that something would come and get me was gone replaced with an unknowing. ...

It is week before Christmas when I return to Beijing from my father’s 90th birthday party and a subsequent business trip. I make it through customs and immigration and then walk through the arrivals areas looking to see if someone is there to pick me up. I do this even though I know those days have long ago passed. Down to the airport basement to take the express into town. A young woman greets me, her job is supposedly to help newbie foreigners. I brush past her, bo humbug. I find my way home. Sabrina has put up the christmas tree while I was gone and had done quite a stunning job with it. At first I thought it was a new tree. The kids arrive the next day and would stay through Christmas. I don’t know why, but I just wasn’t very excited about Christmas. Not anti Christmas, just not into it. Maybe because of the jet lag, which takes me a week to get over, or because of my dad’s poor health effect on me (he would pass the day after Christmas). I wasn’t even going through the motions of wrapping gifts and putting them under the tree. Worse yet, I was in a “mood”, both at home and at work. Two days before Christmas, it felt like a normal saturday and then I noticed Elisa, who is nine. She was sitting at the dinner table drawing and cutting. She was making presents and cards, keeping her work a secret. She then made her own wrapping and put them under the tree. That is what did it - I was in. I went to the store and bought wrapping paper proper - not always easy to find in Beijing - and wrapped the simple gifts I had bought in the US. Elisa really wanted to know what I had bought for Aidan and Lydia. We then went Christmas shopping, I provided the kids with some money to get some small things . Wrapping ensued that evening, with Sabrina helping Elisa. The next day I made the christmas meal shopping list and had to visit five stores before finding ricotta. We watched “die hard” as our Christmas Eve movie night. Morning came. We had dunkin donuts and then opened gifts, most of them, since Sabrina had to go to work (Christmas is a normal working day here). Kids were grateful and excited even though the gifts were really basic this year - basically I had no idea for what big ticket items to get. In the afternoon Yang, her mom, and a friend came over and we had an early Christmas dinner. I made my mom’s lasagna and devil eggs but the big hit was the chips and dip (sour cream plus onion soup mix). The kids left with Yang around 6pm and would spend the next few days at a ski resort. I cleaned the stray wrappings from under the tree and had a glass of wine or two. ...

Elisa is jumping rope on top of the yoga mat and trying to do a cross jump. She’s getting frustrated because she can’t do the cross and there is a school skill competition tomorrow. I watch her technique and besides thinking she is jumping too high, I have no idea. What do I know about cross jumps. She tries a few more times and the I hit on it - YouTube to the rescue. And sure enough there are plenty of YouTube instruction videos. We pick one. Tights are not good on everyone. The instruction is good, Elisa is rapt with attention, playing parts over and over again. She still can’t do it. She’s frustrated. I ask her to take a break. She asks me if I think she can do the cross jump tomorrow. Yes, I lie. ...

A story about child abuse at a well funded, well known kindergarden chain in China showed up in the western media. Over the course of a few days the story changed from abuse that could be widespread, to a specific school in Beijing, then to a specific teacher at that school, and finally that a couple of parents conspired and made the story up. I have no idea what the actual truth is. ...

I am playing basketball in the All Soul’s schoolyard. Metal nets, slightly elevated asphalt. I am shooting uphill because the rim is better and the downhill side often meant you were chasing the ball. Off to the side of the court I hear a deep recognizable voice say “Allio”. I know why he is there and I am filled with dread. A few days before some classmates and me were “exploring” in the church basement. We came to an unlocked room and looked inside. It had full candy bars and M&Ms. My entire life to that point I probably never had a full candy bar. I took one. The next day I went back and took another. I knew they were not free for the taking and someone told me they were meant to be sold at Bingo night. The was no ambivalence about whether it was wrong, I knew and I still took it. ...

I’m in the Starbucks of Yang’s apartment about to pick up Elisa for a morning performance of Disney on Ice. I text up to see if Yang and the kids want anything. Vanilla Frap for Aidan, Chocolate Frap for Lydia, decaf coffee for Yang, and pita bread for Elisa. I’m thinking this sure ain’t breakfast food when Sabrina says she wants the New York Cheesecake. We get upstairs, fortifications in hand. Talk with the older kids while Elisa gets ready and Yang puts on some pants. Sabrina books a car and we take off. ...

I am standing in front of the hotel check-in counter with my then young son Aidan. I am waiting patiently for one of the two clerks to look up from their paperwork and process us. A man walks up behind my right shoulder and talks over it at the clerks. They look up and one of them gets him his room. The other goes back to ignoring me. I am in line at Starbucks waiting for the cashier to finish processing the previous transaction. A near middle age man walks up, stands between me and the cashier, and starts to order. I tell him I was waiting and in excellent English he apologies and steps back. We are exiting the arena. There are hundreds of people trying to get down the flight of stairs and into the arena lobby. A woman decides to stop in the middle of the stairs and put a jacket on her two year old, slowing everyone down as they try to avoid them. The intersection is congested. A car is blocked by traffic from making a right turn holding up cars behind it. A driver honks, but doesn’t just honk, leans on the horn relentlessly as school children and parents walk by. I am driving and waiting on a long red; testing my patience The light turns green and I get ready to punch it when I notice an e-bike speeding in front of my car. And then another. I go into the Jack Jones clothing store because somehow I ended up at work without any underwear. A young clerk greets me and follows me as I walk into the store. There is nothing flirtatious or about it, she’s just doing her job. As she stands right behind me, and I mean right behind me, as I look at the underwear selection. ...

After dinner Lydia and I are walking to 7-11 for some snacks and she’s playfully asking me how tall Allio’s get. I say, “What do you call a tall Allio? A mutation.” She laughs. At 13 she can appreciate my wit for she has the same sometimes sharp tongue. And I feel connected. When I first started my “kids weeks” four years ago, it was loose footing as Mr. Mom. Or what I would tell the kids “baba ayi” (father nanny). There was the morning rush getting them up, some semblance of a breakfast, and into a car or rickshaw to school. Then home, out to dinner, back home making sure they did homework, endless laundry, then shower and sleep. When the following week came and I sent them off to school I would feel relieved and strangely accomplished. I would have the following week as the “single” part of my “single dad” status although mostly that meant watching TV episodes and thinking about dating. A night out would typically be with one of my few guy friends and involve a beer or two. Then I started dating and had a real relationship. Then a second, which is the current state of things. Now back in the present time, Aidan and Lydia and increasingly Elisa can take care of themselves. I cook dinner for them about half the time, about half the time we go out. It is important to me, as it was to my mom, that we sit with each other and talk during dinner. We have our routines, from pizza party movie night, to utown ramen, to taco night. Lately Elisa and I have been playing Monopoly and Uno. It is now Monday again - I keep the kids Monday to Monday - and I’m taking Elisa to school. We are not talking too much this morning, just sitting the back of our didi (China’s uber). We get to her school and my heart tugs when I say “have a good day, see you next week” and then she’s gone as loud speakers blast Chinese music that I don’t understand. I feel the same when Aidan and Lydia take off on Monday morning for their school. That I will miss them terribly. I no longer look forward to my life being single with a sense of accomplishment, the week instead greets me with a sense of longing and isolation. Isolation because I’ve become more isolated at work being the only non Chinese speaker in my group. More isolated in relationships since the few good friends I either don’t see or they have left China. Isolated in relationship since Sabrina works crazy startup hours and I often only see her during the week when I kiss her goodbye in the morning. They kids have left the house quite a mess. I guess I could clean in. But it’s a happy mess. ...

Yang sends me a WeChat that Elisa’s school will have her participate in some government event this week. I text back that Trump is in town on Thursday. “That must be it”, she says. I am added to the WeChat group with the other parents of the 10 American kids selected from Elisa’s school. There are instructions in Chinese and English including dress code. The coordinating teachers ask for photos of what the kids will wear and we dutifully send. No black stockings for Elisa, white or grey is ok. Some details trickle in - welcoming ceremony, outside of great hall of the people, kids up front. There is no direct mention of Trump. We all know. ...