What it’s really like to work with a kid at home during the pandemic
Covid upended everything, including the idea that kids go to school while their parents work. Here’s how a single dad and an 11-year-old got through it together
Work/life balance: Mounted on our dining room wall is an assortment of work supplies as well as a Nerf arsenal, often used to settle father-son disputes.
The crash sounded like someone had taken a sledgehammer to a Buick’s hood. It was the kind of noise that shook your insides, and it came in the middle of the workday, right before deadline.
I found Jack at his desk, frozen, his eyes supersized and beginning to fill with tears.
Then I spotted the TV. It was upside-down on the living room floor.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
Jack nodded. The sound of the fall had scared him, and he was overcome with a great deal of remorse for having, by all appearances, committed involuntary manslaughter against our television.
“I’m sorry!” Jack said, big tears now streaming down his face.
“It’s OK,” I said. “It’s OK. It’s just a TV.”
My heart was still pounding, and the deadline was creeping ever closer. I was trying to be reassuring, but the words came out sharp and pointed.
My body felt like it was being pulled in three directions at once, which had become a familiar sensation during the pandemic. I looked at Jack. I looked at the TV. I glanced at the clock, then toward the blinking cursor on my monitor.
There are any number of reasons “Bring Your Kid to Work Day” happens only once a year. This had to be near the top of the list.
Still, Jack has been a saint when it comes to accommodating my work schedule during the pandemic. In fact, the little guy has stepped up to meet this moment in every way. I couldn’t ask more of a 10-year-old. And I’ll always smile when I think of the two of us hunkered down in this apartment together.
There have been nightly wrestling matches, Nerf gun wars and the occasional water fight. We’ve spun records at top volume — U2, Hüsker Dü, The Ramones, The Clash as well as two of Jack’s personal favorites, Gorillaz “Demon Days” and Sugar’s “Copper Blue.” We’ve shot Nerf darts off the balcony. We even invented our own absurdist form of martial arts. (Don’t ask – you had to be there.)
Still, of the many ways the pandemic upended all that we previously took for granted, tossing work and family life in a blender might be the most disruptive.
Roughly half of all parents working from home said they’ve been distracted and have had trouble getting work done during the pandemic, according to a Pew Research study published late last year.
By contrast, only 20% of remote workers without kids said the same.
At the pandemic’s outset, I was adjusting to life as a newly single dad – and helping a little person through big feelings about his parents’ divorce, praying all the while I was getting it right.
I spent hours on the phone with my attorney. There were other calls with my parents, whose divorce had unleashed itself at almost precisely the same time as my own. (I am not making this up.)
Meanwhile, Jack, just like every other kid, couldn’t see his friends nor play soccer in his regular league. No recess. No evening school performances led by his music teacher. No showing me around his classroom during open house nights. No stopping by his teacher’s desk when he had a question. Just screens. All the time screens. He handled it like a champ, but I worried.
The world may have shut down but my life was speeding up. I interviewed tech executives, AirPods tucked in my ears, while helping Jack find the Go-Gurts in the fridge. I covered the governor’s Covid briefings while stirring mac and cheese. And in the evenings I planned what stories I’d write next while washing dishes and folding laundry.
Trying to focus felt at times like gripping the leash of a pit-bull who’d just caught the scent of a rotting deer carcass.
Sleep didn’t always come easy, and work seemed to be the best substitute. In fact, work felt pretty good. Sure, I was overwhelmed. Yes, my focus was often shot. But trying to sort my way through it all was a welcome distraction from everything else.
I’d tuck Jack into bed, then jump back on my MacBook. I returned emails at 10 p.m. I pored over SEC documents at 1 a.m. I sometimes wrote at 2 a.m. or later to get a jump on the next day’s deadlines.
There was also the online class for startup founders I was co-teaching. I’d jumped in at the last minute at the request of one of our publication’s a vice presidents.
And there was the podcast I hosted and produced, which was something I’d never done before. I’d researched and bought software, learned sound editing, chased down theme music and figured out how to distribute the finished product.
A bonus: the audio had glitched in the first two episodes, and I was racing to fix it.
“Yes!” I shouted, my voice booming across the apartment once I managed to figured it out.
“Nice work, Dad!” Jack called out.
In hindsight, I should have taken a breather, learned yoga, eaten more salads. Instead, I put my head down and plowed forward.
“Onward and overboard,” as a good friend likes to say.
And now the TV had been maimed – possibly killed – in a freak accident.
“How – I mean how – did this happen?” I demanded.
The question, it occurred to me, had become universal.
Here’s how it happened: Jack reclined the back of his gaming chair, then gave the chair a quick twirl. He’s spent much of his fifth-grade year in that chair, which means he’s executed this maneuver thousands of times flawlessly and without incident.
The difference this time was that we’d just moved his desk to a new spot in the living room, which happened to be closer to the TV. As the chair spun, its back bashed into all 55 inches of that flatscreen, which did a half-backflip off the entertainment console and landed upside-down against the wall.
Ten points on the dismount, even from the East German judge.
Being a kid is hard. Kids exist in their own realm of space and physics. It’s a constant and unyielding fact of life, and there’s no sense getting mad about it.
With that in mind, I can’t tell you this was my best parenting moment, but Jack and I were laughing not long after that TV took a dive.
Somehow, for every tough moment during these strange and harrowing months, there have been exponentially more graces.
Since the pandemic’s beginning, Jack and I have been walking down to a neighborhood bench overlooking the Sound. We call them our “night walks.” Along the way, we search the sky for planets. Jack’s really good at spotting them. He tells me about all things Minecraft or what he’s learned watching his favorite science channel on YouTube. Sometimes he reaches out and holds my hand and we walk in silence.
I’ve taught Jack bits of rock and roll history. We customize mechanical keyboards together. We set off for Target or Ikea and scroll Amazon and OfferUp, collecting all we need for our new home — bit by bit, as each paycheck allows. And we adopted two cats: Tracer and Iggy Pop, who chew on Jack’s toes during class and climb on me during Teams calls.
I recently let Jack download “Call of Duty: Black Ops – Cold War” on the condition that he let me teach him about the real Cold War. So we got a book, and we’ve been checking out Russia, Vietnam, Cuba and Afghanistan on Google Earth. We’re also hosting our own Cold War Film Festival. Our most recent showing: “Top Gun.” Next up: “The Hunt for Red October” and “Spy Game.” We’ve even discussed what Bowie was talking about when he wrote “Heroes.”
Father-son-disputes are usually settled by Nerf gun or more drastic measures. One night when Jack refused to take a shower, I dragged him by his feet across the kitchen laminate and threatened to put him in the dishwasher.
That kid has got the greatest laugh. It’s almost the same as when he was a baby, and it sounds as though he’s so overcome with happiness he’s about to hyperventilate.
There have been moments, especially early on, when Jack had the weight of a global pandemic and a new divorce coming down on him. He didn’t know what to do with all of those feelings, and you could see it in his face and in the way he carried his body.
“Here goes nothing,” I’d say to myself. “Get it right, Lystra.”
And then Jack and I would talk it through. On one occasion, I asked him to show me where he feels the stress. Jack pressed his hand agains his chest.
“All of that’s totally normal,” I said. “Trust me, the feelings will pass – they always do.”
I may as well have been trying to reassure myself, too.
But the next part? That was just for Jack.
“You know I’ll always have your back, right? Oh, and by the way, none of this is your fault, kiddo. Keep doing exactly what you’re doing, because you rule.”
Jack smiled. The kid’s goofy bounce was back, and his face glowed the way it usually does. He wrapped his arms around me and we held on tight.
I sighed a relieved sigh.
Then Jack picked up a Nerf gun, aimed it at my head and pulled the trigger.
“Ow!” I said. I smiled and rubbed my temple.
Jack laughed.
He aimed and pulled the trigger again.
Get in touch: Feel free to reach me at tlystra@satellitenw.com.