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Besides worrying about my health and fulminating against Trump, I have my three sons who occupy my mind. My two step-children, Karen, 26, and Lorca, 21, come and go, but they are living together in San Antonio, she finishing her last year of dental school at UT and he working at the airport as an apprentice electrician. They are their mother's responsibilities. If I am in a position to help them, I lend a hand, but they don't figure in my plans.

Dante, Diego and Mick are my top priorities. They are in good places right now, but with the pandemic nothing is assured. After two years of teaching, Dante, 32, resigned and became a Culligan Man. He installs water systems throughout the Rio Grande Valley. He has an new-found appreciation for air-conditioning. Much of the time he is alone as he works. He is at ease by himself. Wildly infatuated, he has a girlfriend, the most serious relationship of his life, and they keep constant company. He is neither a financial nor an emotional strain on me.

Diego, 30, went to Austin when he was 18 and has never returned. He has played music non-stop. He was making a good living in the service industry until COVID hit and closed down the city. Adding insult to injury, he fell victim to the virus, but he recovered. Since he has been on his own, he is a survivor. He is delivering beer in a new and growing company. The CEO told him there are infinite possibilities. With bars and clubs closed, the firm is booming as it supplies supermarkets and convenience stores. Like funeral parlors, there is a never-ending demand for beer. He is madly in love. He maintains a band, but there are no venues these days. He writes music. When one door closes, another opens and he is pursuing his solo side.

I tell them both the same thing: "You will never be happier than you are in this moment. You may be happy in other moments as there are many sources of happiness, but you have your health, money, love and inspiration in your lives without burdensome responsibilities. Savor this precious time. Life is a riverboat gambler and you never know the hand it is going to deal you. You're sitting on a full houses, but never think that you are immune from folding at any second."

We had a difficult period when I left their mom for Olivia. No different than poker, you never know where the river will lead, but time and their own experiences have deepened our relationship. It is a good feeling when a father knows that his sons love their old man.

Mick will be 16 in a month. He had an excellent football and track season as a freshman. As a sophomore, he had his sights set on starting as a receiver with the varsity, but COVID is wrecking havoc with both his academics and athletics. He starts classes online next week. There is hope for a football season with a reduced schedule and a later start, but I have no confidence in the near future. Most everyone, with the exception of Trump and his toadies, fear there will be a spike and we will find ourselves sentenced to the sidelines standing around and waiting for everyone to take personal precautions to protect themselves and others as well as the arrival of vaccines and tests with prompt results before there is any path to normalcy.

Mick was the cutest little boy. And very affectionate. There wasn't anything he couldn't do. He was one of the top golfers in the RGV in his age division. He played the guitar and starred on flag football teams. He could draw. He was my baby, but those days are over. He has a girlfriend. He has his friends. The pull of his peers is stronger than gravity. He's moody. His responses to my questions don't exceed much more than one-syllable puffs of air. When he wants something, his demeanor changes (no different than the sun peeking through the clouds), but when he realizes his goal, he retreats into that dark teenage state. I look at the old pictures of him with his big smile and nattily attired, and no differently than when I'm looking at pictures of my family and friends, the passage of time fills me with a profound sadness. I'm continually thinking about capturing time in words, but my efforts have proved futile thus far.

Olivia was talking about one of her student's parents. He is 74 and has a young son. He confessed to Olivia that he couldn't keep up with the child. He had neither the energy nor the patience. At 69, I feel the same way about Mick. Besides the talents I have listed regarding his development, I taught him to ride a bike, hit a pitch and shoot a basket. He is learning to drive under my tutelage and qualifies for his license in November. I'm sure he is going to be treating me with a kindness that I haven't known in the recent past. I hope he isn't over-confident. I don't own a car. I don't own anything, which keeps my billfold fat with bills and my credit card flushed with funds. When he wants anything at the spur of the moment, from cleats to shirts, from fast food to cash, I have it, but it will be a different story if I'm paying for a car, insurance, gas and maintenance. The idea of a seven-year loan isn't to my anti-materialistic liking. There will be no easy money then. For me extra money is synonymous with liberty and at my age I don't want to be caged even though I may never leave my present abode. Knowing you can is as important as actually doing it.

"You need to learn Spanish," I tell Mick. "You need to hit the weights and jog. You need to master the computer and all its functions. You need to play the guitar and write songs; music will take you much further than sports. No quarterback gets more chicks than a singer. You're almost 16. It's on you now. I'm here, but I don't have the drive to push you. I've brought you to the threshold of your own potential, but you have to want it. I'm letting you go. You have to kick it up a notch. I know that you're ambitious, but if you're going to spend all your time on the phone and playing video games, you're not going to achieve your dreams. For your mother's sake (my dad would invoke my mother, too), don't fuck up. But if you have a problem, you can come to me and trust that I will do my best to help you resolve it. You know from experience that you can count on your dad."

And so it goes. We trudge forward. It's the direction that the life pulse carries us. At my age I haven't surrendered to the darkness. There is light ahead of me, but I'm not kidding myself either. There are too many signs of impending doom and suffering, but I'm mustn't lose my resolve. My sons need me and the light I cherish exists within the joy that they bring me. Whether it's talking about existence over a beer with Dante or convincing Diego to learn one of my compositions or catching a glimpse of the child that is fast fading in Mick, they give me a special privilege of being a father. I have done my best to follow in my father's footsteps ( I could never fill his shoes!). Being called "Dad" never grows old unlike the physical shell that I inhabit, which grows more and more hollow by the minute.