There is a subject I have avoided writing about: my son. That’s right! I’m a father.

For reasons which seemed noble at the time, may have turned around and bit me on the ass.

I was not going to write about my son. Not because I was trying to “hide” the fact I am a father; it had more to do with privacy. HIS privacy. Exploitation leaves a bad taste in my mouth. And, I thought, if I wrote about him, it would violate some unmentioned vow.

Something has changed.

I have changed, and so have others from my former, pre-North Carolina life.

It feels safe now to share with you, dear Reader, some more of my life. And that IS THE POINT of these silly little columns – to share and to help… maybe get a little help back from y’all. Now, that would be great, because I have no idea what the hell I am doing. I don’t even pretend to know what I am doing anymore.

Last week, for the first time in over a year, I saw my son, Vincent. Tara and I packed up the VW Tiguan, and drove hours on I-77 North, straight to a hotel in Ohio for the special visit.

The hotel was to be the Kent State University Hotel and Conference Center, located in the heart of the Ohio college campus. What was important to me was wherever I got to see my son, it had to be nice. And safe. And, of course, have a pool.

I wrote about this experience in a Reporter’s spiral-bound notebook. I was sitting in the hotel lobby, head down, and the pen flew across the pages that were being flicked over so fast it sounded like someone was dropping or throwing newspapers.

(It was my nerves getting the best of me. By nature, I can shut my mind off when I feel I must, and transport what I am thinking to a page.)

The gonzo piece was poetic, and flowing with fancy language. A style of writing I have not constructed in a long time. But maybe too fancy for this format. I have never tried to be impressive, as in some stylistic, profound, or important writer when typing these stupid little stories up.

What I know about them: they are good! They are good for me. Having to spend a little bit of time every day considering my life and having consideration for those involved in my life has radically altered my day-to-day life.

I am, at this very moment, by writing this to you, dear Reader, acting with those principles in which I just described. I MUST, for him, of all people, show consideration.

Vincent walked through those lobby doors, taller than I have ever seen him. And, undeniably, my son.

Tara, Vincent, and I had two good visits staying at that hotel.

I’ll keep the details private.

The outcome, though, of this first visitation experimentation: I get to do it again.

After I bid adieu to all of you, I need to finish packing.

Tara and I get to see him this weekend.