I love to travel. I hate to be away.
My parents taught me the value of experiencing new sights at a very young age. It is of no surprise, then, that my wife and I made a concious decision to "collect memories, not things." We spend our money going places, meeting new people and experiencing new lives rather than investing in big cars or other suburban baubles.
But travel can be hard. Last year, my Dad died while I was in China. It pierced my heart not to be with him, even though it was Dad who insisted I take the trip.
Life continues to happen while you are away.
Right now, my son is going through a rough time. I don't want to go into his private life, but Garrett is at that agonizing age where I young man's life is tormented by the unholy trinity -- cars, school and girls.
With modern technology, I can hear his voice, read his typed words and offer my own across the miles. But it is not the same. I can't touch him gently on the shoulder or squeeze his hand in support. I can only feel inadequate as I do what father's are supposed to do -- let him grow up.
But Garrett, I love you. And no matter how many miles, no matter how many years I always will.