The Journey of Fatherhood: Reflections on My Children

My children, Parker and Richard, are the center of my world. They have shaped my life in ways I never could have imagined, bringing joy, purpose, and countless lessons. Each of their journeys is unique, and together, they form a narrative of love, growth, and discovery that continues to inspire me every day.

Parker W. Sweet (Bina)

Parker, who also goes by Bina, was born in Pohang, South Korea, in 1999. His mother and I adopted him through Wide Horizons for Children, working with the Holt agency in South Korea. In January 2000, we received the long-awaited notification from his foster parents that he was ready to come home. My parents joined us on the trip, and although the weather was freezing, our excitement kept us warm.

None of us had been to Korea before, so despite the cold, we embraced every moment of the week we spent waiting for the paperwork to finalize. We walked through the city, savoring delicious local food and exploring every museum we could find. It was an unforgettable experience that bonded us even more deeply as a family.

Once home, we shared custody of Parker until he graduated from Williston Northampton School. Parker’s determination and intelligence shone through in everything he did. He pursued Public Health at UMass Amherst, graduating early, and immediately went on to earn his Master’s degree in Public Health. While at UMass, Parker worked as a Resident Assistant and played a critical role during the COVID-19 pandemic, leading the university's response program. His dedication earned him recognition from then-Governor Charlie Baker, who awarded him for his outstanding contributions. Parker went on to work for Governor Baker’s office and later continued his work under Governor Healey. He now lives in Arlington, continuing to make an impact in public service.

Richard P. Sweet (Ricky)

Richard came into my life in October 2009. I was 47 at the time and had not expected to have another child after Parker. His arrival surprised me in the best way possible, reminding me of the boundless capacity for love and the joy of fatherhood.

When Richard was a baby, we lived in South Hadley. Emily worked days at UMass as a cook, and I stayed home with him. When Emily returned home in the late afternoon, I would begin my part-time work as a music teacher. As Richard grew and became more independent, I was able to work more during the day. I continued my consulting work in supply chain and sourcing, web development, and social media management.

As Richard started school, I seized the opportunity to explore new business ventures. I launched TwoTree International, an import/export company focused on musical instruments, tools, and supplies. Later, I partnered with Al B., consulting for his company, Mando Mo Strings, which specialized in mandolins and guitars.

In 2018, Emily and I bought a home on seven acres of land that had once been part of a grape farm. This land became a canvas for my passion for gardening and nature. I planted 12 fruit trees, a quarter-acre of blueberry bushes, and another half-acre of raspberry bushes. The property thrived, filled with growing things, much like Richard himself. As he blossomed, I shared everything I knew with him—how to use tools, care for the yard, and appreciate the land. We spent weekends and summers hiking, biking, canoeing, and exploring our community together. Watching him grow into the young person he is today has been one of my life’s greatest joys.

Our Life Together

Our family wouldn’t be complete without our two beloved animals: Kitty, our affectionate cat, and Lucky, our loyal dog. The boys adore them, and their presence has added warmth and companionship to our home.

My children are more than family; they are my teachers, my inspiration, and my pride. Parker and Richard each hold a unique place in my heart, and I am grateful every day for the privilege of being their father. Their journeys are just beginning, and I look forward to seeing where life takes them next.

When Your Teen Takes a Hike—Without You

Watching my son become more independent is one of those bittersweet milestones in parenthood. Just a couple of years ago, we would go on long walks together, talking about his day, his interests, or whatever was on his mind. Back then, I could barely take a step out the door without him eagerly joining. It was part of our rhythm, those walks. But now, something’s shifted.

Recently, he’s taken up exercise with a serious commitment—especially walking, jogging, and the occasional hike. It’s something I should be proud of, and I am. He’s driven, motivated to keep fit, and determined to carve out time for his routines. But there’s a catch: he now prefers to do all of this alone. No invitation to join him, no space for dad along the trail. Sometimes, if I even suggest a walk, he’ll flat-out refuse, choosing instead to blaze ahead or head out solo at a different time entirely.

It’s hard not to take this personally. I’ve always valued the times we shared outdoors as moments to connect, and now that he’s pulling away, it feels like I’m losing part of that bond. But I’ve also been told this is a natural, even necessary, step for teenagers. They’re testing the waters of independence, creating boundaries that help them establish a sense of self. And a part of me recognizes he needs this space to explore who he is, outside of who he is to me.

Still, there’s a pang of sadness when I see him head off on his own. I miss the talks, the laughter, the way he’d notice something small and want to show me, excited to share it with someone. Now, he’s quiet, more internal. It’s like he’s gradually moving out of that phase where parents are at the center of everything, and into one where his own thoughts and ambitions take priority.

As parents, we often think we’re prepared for this transition. But nothing quite prepares you for that feeling of watching them grow more separate, right in front of you. And maybe it’s not so much the change in routine that gets to me, but the realization that he’s becoming his own person. It’s both humbling and a little unsettling to know he no longer needs me as much, even for the simple things like a walk.

So, I’m learning to let go, to see his independence as a win for him rather than a loss for me. He’s choosing how he spends his time, learning to enjoy his own company, and setting goals that matter to him. That’s something I admire. Even if it’s lonely at times, I know these steps are part of his journey toward adulthood.

Maybe one day, he’ll invite me along again. And if he doesn’t, I’ll still be here, ready to walk beside him, whenever he needs me.