A Paradigm Shift on Parenting: How to be a Nomad AND a Parent? (Part Two)
My odyssey on a less traveled road
After reading my previous blog post, you’ve likely gained a glimpse of the compromises I’ve made to make this unconventional nomadic parenthood work. What might have been counterintuitive to you is that how creativity and resilience could transform this inherently challenging journey into one filled with enrichment, gratification, and wonderful moments. While I’ve addressed the first two challenges in Part One, which are centered around my children and me, it’s equally vital to investigate challenges from other types of relationships that inevitably play a significant role. In Part Two of this article, I’m going to address those remaining challenges.
3. How should I respond when my kids talk about their mom’s boyfriend?
I recall a particular instance when I took my elder son to a restaurant. As the waiter stood nearby, my son suddenly beamed with pride and exclaimed, “You know what? I have two daddies!” The waiter, somewhat bewildered, glanced at me with an awkward expression. I simply smiled and remained silent, allowing my son to elaborate. “Who is your other dad?” the waiter continued to ask. My son replied, “Evan!”
Evan (a fictitious name to protect privacy), my ex-wife’s boyfriend at the time, was a genuinely kind and nurturing person. He provided a great deal of day-to-day care for my elder son (my younger son was still stuck in China during Covid, so he didn’t know Evan), contributing tremendously to his life.
It still caught me somewhat by surprise that my son would boldly call him dad in a public setting, his excitement shining through. This situation raised a question in my mind: should I feel compelled to “correct” him? Should I explain to my children that they technically had only one “biological” father?
I found myself ensnared in a difficult dilemma. On one hand, Evan had unquestionably assumed a fatherly role in my absence, showering my son with the love and care that aligns with traditional fatherhood. He introduced him to American football, wrestling, and various sports, filling a void that my absence had created. He immersed himself in books. He could fluently recite substantial portions of the U.S. Constitution. In many ways, he was the kind of mentor and figure I would want my children to spend time with.
However, on the other hand, the question lingered: did it stretch too far to permit my children to refer to him as “dad”? Did this terminology suggest that I was somehow inadequate as a father, perhaps only contributing 50% to their upbringing? My rational thoughts and ego engaged in a intensive internal debate.
As the internal debate raged on, my thoughts turned to an uncle of mine who had visited my own family briefly decades ago when I was a teenager. He was a captivating and knowledgeable middle-aged man, deeply immersed in literature and science. He even taught me how to fashion a battery using just an orange and pieces of metal, demonstrating knowledge and skills that my own father didn’t possess. Despite his brief presence in my life for just a few days, I couldn’t help but feel a fatherly connection. Reflecting on this experience from my own youth, I began to question myself why my own children couldn’t have a similar bond with someone like Evan.
Since then, I chose to set aside my ego and adopted a stance of silence whenever my son continued to refer to Evan as his dad in my presence, a practice that persisted numerous times thereafter. I recognized that if my kid considered someone else to be their father figure, it was his right to do so. While it might not have been my preference, I understood the importance of respecting his perception and choice.
Years later, Evan was no longer in a relationship with my ex-wife. During one time with my elder son, he posed a strange question: “Dad, do you know who my family is?” This question weighed heavily on my heart, evoking a profound sense of sadness. I couldn’t help but feel remorseful that he had to grapple with such complex family dynamics at such a young age. For him, the concept of a father figure had never been a clear cut; it had been marked by a series of arrivals and departures. Yet, on the other hand, I was determined to provide him with an honest response.
A song from the movie “Coco” came to mind: “For this music is my language and the world es mi familia.” It struck me that for my son, the conventional two-parent model had dissolved. I was the person who had disrupted that paradigm, and as a result, I bore the responsibility of establishing a fresh, alternative framework for him.
“Is the world our family?” I asked myself.
The world was indeed our family. In March 2020 when Covid just broke out, an Airbnb host in Costa Mesa allowed me to stay in their home, so that I was able to visit my son in Orange County during those challenging times. The host even invited my son to have dinner together with her own daughters. When most people shut the doors to strangers, the ones who didn’t were our family.
On the Christmas Day of 2020 while my son and I were staying in an Airbnb in Huntington Beach, the Vietnamese host, an old and nice man, surprised my son with a little yellow toy car as a Christmas gift. He said to me: ”Your son is so adorable. I gave my grandson a toy car yesterday and I wanted to give another one to your son.” During those festive holidays, the people who opened their doors, shared their joy, and extended their best wishes, were our family.
With all these precious moments flashing in my mind, I tenderly placed my hand on my son’s head and spoke gently, “Son, your family is made up of all the people you love and who love you in return.” Curiously, he inquired, “Is Evan part of my family?” I replied with reassurance, “Yes, as long as you hold him in your heart.” I continued, “Even though your mom may not be in touch with him anymore, he remains a friend and someone you care about. If, when you grow up, you wish to reconnect with him, don’t hesitate to do so!”
I believed that I provided him with an honest answer that day, ensuring he would no longer grapple with confusion about who constituted his family. In my view, it was not blood that stood as the paramount determinant of family; it was love, the most crucial and defining factor.
4. What should I do when my own personal relationship adversely interferes with my kids?
I once dated a very attractive woman. Our relationship endured for over a year. Our connection thrived in many aspects, yet a significant challenge lay in her pervasive insecurity. She craved my undivided attention and time, often feeling unhappy when I prioritized spending time with my children.
Initially, the situation wasn’t too dire because my kids had temporarily returned to China. However, in late 2019, my elder son came back to the United States and settled in Orange County. This reunion prompted me to visit him more frequently. Subsequently, my girlfriend’s anxiety escalated. She perpetually harbored concerns that I would allocate an excessive portion of my love to my children and potentially go back with my ex-wife. This tension reached its peak during the Christmas holidays, when her emotional distress culminated, requiring professional intervention from a psychologist.
I ultimately recognized that this relationship had become profoundly detrimental, both to her mental well-being and to my own. As a result, I made the difficult but necessary decision to end it.
It was an incredibly challenging decision to make. Our time together had been filled with countless cherished memories, and I had personally gleaned valuable insights from her way of life. It was the sort of relationship I had longed for over many years. However, the intensity of its interference with my children left me with no other choice but to bring it to an end.
Since then, I’ve been hesitant to venture into any more intense romantic relationships. I’ve also consciously distanced myself from the insecurities that can sometimes be prevalent in certain cultural groups. The baggage from my previous marriage significantly constrained my options in personal relationships, but I believed it was a necessary sacrifice I had to make.
By now, it should be evident that the path of being a nomad and a (single) parent at the same time is never easy. To sustain peace with my ex-wife and to foster the best possible upbringing for our children, a significant amount of effort is required.
I must consistently demonstrate a high degree of flexibility and maintain a strong spirit of collaboration with my ex-wife to ensure that pleasant visitation experiences can be obtained.
I must bring more enriching ingredients to my kids’ life during my visitation to compensate for my absence.
I must be respectful to my kids’ feelings and accept what they feel in such an unusual family arrangement, even if it could be hurtful for me.
I must also be willing to make essential sacrifices in my personal life to ensure that my relationship with my kids remains my top priority.
But I have to admit, it is a challenging, yet profoundly rewarding journey. Such is the nature of life — there are rarely any free rides. Whenever I relish the freedoms that traditional families may not experience, I’m mindful of the substantial costs attached to that freedom. Nevertheless, regardless of the life path one chooses, it’s crucial to ensure that it aligns with one’s true desires, and to never harbor regrets over the choices made.
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