Every other weekend, dinners on Wednesdays. Not much time, all things considered. Thousands (millions?) of parents — fathers — have done it, do it, will do it. I don’t know how, but I’m learning. Learning to see the time as a gift rather than punishment. Not just dinners on these Wednesdays but journeys, adventures, time to hold hands and skip along down Kedzie talking of math classes and what fourth grade might be like and whether Green Lantern rings should be worn on left or right hands. Time to stop and breathe the air at dusk, look at rivers and watch how they flow, stand still — arm-in-arm — with the sun setting and a breeze on our backs. Dusk on a Wednesday isn’t tucking him into bed every night or packing him lunches in the morning, but it’s something. And even small somethings can be beautiful and true and not easily forgotten.