Team Dad

The summer I turned six my mother packed my younger brother and me into the car for a road trip. Just before we left I remember sitting in the backseat of the Karmann Ghia at 732 Jefferson (I’d learned our address in kindergarten.) From my vantage point I could only see my father from the waist down. From the front seat my mother would say something to my father. Then he’d walk back into the house and return with some item, which he handed through the window. As I remember, this went on several times with me watching his long legs go to and from the house. On the last trip he returned and handed the iron to my mother. And then we left. My father is a six foot five, so even as we drove down the street I could not see his face just his legs.

It turned out not to be just any road trip. That was the summer my mother left my father. To my six-year-old brain, the iron had seemed out of place for a road trip. However the impact of the trip didn’t really register until I started first grade in another state.

From then on, I only saw my father during summers and some holidays. This arrangement proved beneficial to my burgeoning mathematical skills as I counted the months and days between visits.

Given the limited time spent with my father I find the degree of his influence to be astounding. I’ve always played for Team Dad. As a tot I woke up to hear my parents arguing. My father was consigned to sleep in the living room recliner. In solidarity I slept on the floor beside him.

We have many shared qualities: an appreciation for books, history, language, intellectual pursuits and the occasional single malt. Generally reserved, somewhat shy, with a dry sense of humor and a deep vein of loyalty, my father doesn’t waste words. He says what he means and means what he says. And he listens. When I was a freshman in college I remember a phone conversation with my father during which I was quite upset about something. At some point in the conversation my father inquired whether I’d ever thought about meditation. At that time his suggestion came out of left field. But 16 years later I found meditation and it changed my life.

We’ve had our share of “moments.” I’ve been disappointed by him and no doubt he has been by me. But he’s always given me the freedom to be. One his favorite sayings, is, A cada mono su columpio: to each monkey his swing. That’s what I love about my dad—he is the original “Let it Be” man! In fact, he is my main man.