You sit in your favorite chair and your son runs from his room to your lap, hugging you for all he’s worth.  “Good night, daddy,” he says.  “I love you.”  He stares long at your face, squinting a bit and then says, “I want to be just like you.”  Admiration of a mentor...love for his daddy.
 You stand holding him close to you and carry him to bed.  A few final tucks and a flip of the light and he says again, “I want to be just like you, daddy.”  “Go to sleep, Son,” you reply.  “I love you, too.”  Lights are out, you softly shut his door, and return to your chair.
    You wonder what he’s found in you that he likes so much.  He feels your guiding presence, if only for a weekend.  How much it hurts is hard to explain.  How can I tell him, “No, son, you don’t want to be just like me.”  Will he understand?  Not now, probably.  He’s to young.  How do you tell him that you are separated from one of the things you love most in this world......him.  How do you tell him it’s not your choice, but the choice of one or two people that don’t want us together.  One, even that he loves.  Two people using a system made by our representatives, representing only a handful of people, in the name of money.
    Does my son understand hate?  Does he understand descrimination?  Does he understand what the word bias means?  No.  He’s just forced to live with it as I am, and wonder why.
    It’s not by your own choice.  A situation you somehow rode into has left bitterness to dictate his visitation schedule.  Seems almost ludicrous to be a visitor to your own child and he a visitor to his own daddy.  But that’s justice.