I once asked the fine poet Robert Cording about his experience as a writerdaddy, since his kids were around college age and I was only beginning my adventure. When I asked what his kids thought of the fact that he was a writer, he gave a small roar of a laugh and said they probably still resented him for all the times he wouldn't play with them because he was writing, all the times told them to be quiet in the house because he was writing.

It wasn't really advice per se, but... it was good advice. It got me thinking about the "you do downstairs, drink coffee, write" incident (which you'll run into later on this path) in a broader context. That there might not be once single incident in which a child of mine resents me for not spending time with them so I can write, but a life-long sense that part of me was always somewhere else than with them. That my mind was always on writing, whether it was in the mornings when I didn't want anybody knocking on my door because I'm writing or when they wanted to play and I didn't because I'm writing or we couldn't take a camping trip on the weekend because I'm writing or shut up and let me talk this note into my phone because I'm writing. 

When I'm old and on my deathbed, will I regret moments like these and apologize for them? No––I won't wait that long. I'll say it long before, while they're still young and living at home. The trouble is, I don't know what to say. Do any of the following work? 

1. Your father has an addictive personality, guys––something you should watch out for in yourselves eventually––and what he's addicted to instead of booze or drugs or casual sex is sitting alone in his office and typing at a keyboard, or scribbling on printed pieces of paper with a red pen to get the words right. It's weird, but it's healthier than the alternatives.
   
2. This is what your father does for a living. Okay, maybe not for a living, because it barely earns me any money. But doing it keeps me employed as a professor, and if I stopped doing it I'd never get tenure, and we'd be living in a cardboard box on the street. So think of it as a job, like a job any of your friends' dads have. 
   
3. We all have our identities, and mine is that of a writer. You wouldn't resent an athlete for wanting to work out, would you? A monk for praying? Writing is just what I do. It's my path in life. Don't resent me for it, but be glad your father has one because not everybody gets one. 
   

None of them will suffice. They boy will resent my writing every time I tell them to quiet down or tell them I can't play. (It helps to write before they wake up or when they're out of the house, simply to avoid the conflict.) If I'm lucky and stealthy enough I can simply dull/ward off the resentment until they're teenagers, when they'll be glad I'm writing because it keeps me out of their hair. Certainly not the noblest coping strategy, but a suitably realpolitik one.