by Tom Dyson
I used to dread Friday afternoons. That’s when my ex-wife, Kate, would drop off the kids at my apartment for their scheduled weekend with Dad.
Once I had them, I’d watch the clock the whole weekend until I could get rid of them again on Monday morning. If I returned them to Kate without anyone getting hurt, I considered the weekend a success.
I’d give them each an iPad on Friday night. They’d have unlimited screen time in my apartment until Monday morning.
I’m not proud to say this, but I was a babysitter, not a father.