#065 - My Father's Day

"And I just tell people, 'Well, Bob's his best friend.'" -- my mom, about my relationship with my dad, some number of years ago.

I can't really deny that claim. And I have no desire to, either. And it's not for the reason of wanting to be particularly sentimental or cheesy, not to appeal to some unidentified subset of readers who will admire me more if I say that I love my dad. And it's also not because I didn't have friends when I was 12 years old. I had plenty of friends. I'm sure I had more friends then than I do now, and they were great friends. But while the quote above captures a moment in my life that has passed, the emotion associated with has not.

I am quite blessed. I have never looked at anyone else's parents and thought to myself, "Darn, I wish I had that." And even if I did, I can assure you, it was a fleeting thought and at the time I was likely angry and stupid. The motto of the classical American parent is, "Give my children something better than I had." I was lucky enough to have parents who embraced that concept. I wanted plenty of things (I was a kid in the 90s) but I was never in need. And while I'm sure at the time I was heavily focused on material possessions, I know now that the most valuable gift I received as a kid was time. My parents loved me, and they loved my sisters, and I'm not embarrassed to admit it now just as they weren't embarrassed to show it then.

My parents are no longer together, and they haven't been for ten years, but I don't consider that to be any sort of misfortune to me. Rather, I was fortunate enough to have two sane, capable, caring parents who wanted to be a part of my life and wanted me to be happy. When they went separate ways, all I wanted for them was to be happy. And I think that they've found it. I couldn't be happier for them. I'm well aware that writing a piece dedicated to my dad might come off as being ignorant towards my mother, but I certainly hope that's not the case. She's an incredibly important part of my life and I would never go back and change a thing about her. I was proud to walk her down the aisle recently when she was re-married, just as I hope she was proud to have me by her side.

I just feel that, in evaluating my life, I don't give enough credit to the influence that my dad has had over me. I firmly believe that people have the ability to choose what they ultimately want in life--that coming from a rough childhood, while certainly difficult, does not necessarily resign you to having a rough adulthood. That having conservative parents doesn't necessarily mean that you will (or won't) be conservative yourself. I know that it's not my dad's fault or his lone doing that I am who I am now, but as I grew older and became more aware of how I was affecting those around me, I'm very thankful that I had a wonderful example in front of me to work off of.

When I was a kid, I had two dominant areas of recreation: my bedroom with my ninja turtles, and my back yard. I'm something of a universal sports fan and won't immediately reject any game. I played soccer, baseball, basketball, tennis, enjoyed throwing the football around (though never strapped on a helmet), and riding bikes. The one constant throughout all of this? My dad. He was my teammate, my coach, my competitor. He never steered me away from anything or pushed me towards anything else. If I wanted to play a sport, that was great. If I didn't want to, that was great also. People look at my height and might think, "Wow, you're so tall, how come your parents didn't get you into basketball?" It's not like it wasn't an option; the bottom line is, and my dad will tell you this, at the time I just wasn't that into it. I loved shooting in the driveway, but that was the extent of it. Soccer was more fun for me. Baseball was more fun for me. And no matter how many times he had to drive me to the field and pitch me batting practice, no matter how many gloves I lost, no matter how much I beat the crap out of our siding playing wiffle ball, no matter how many times I kicked a soccer ball straight at his brand new prescription sunglasses, he never turned me down. He's a pretty athletic guy himself, and always has been, but playing sports with kids doesn't require just athletic ability. The primary requirement is patience. I was fickle and easily frustrated. I wanted to be good by just walking out there and being good, and when it didn't work out, I'd get pissy. I didn't really have that extra work ethic. But rather than stand there and berate me about what it takes to be a champion, my dad just gave it to me straight: "Hey, if you want to be better, you're going to have to work. And if you want me to help you, I will." How awesome is that? Trust me, a lot of times when I was frustrated, my first answer was, "No, I DON'T want you to help me." And sure enough, two days later, I'd peek my head into the office, "So, you want to toss me some BP?" I never apologized to him for being a brat about it, which is certainly something I regret now, but he never left me hanging. It's just not in him.

It wasn't just that he looked out for me in all of this. My dad was almost always involved. Soccer coach? Baseball coach? Almost every year, whether it be head coach or helping out. And he didn't just do it so that he could get me playing time. He was fair about it. And incredibly encouraging for the other kids. He was definitely not the guy you'd see chewing kids out on the sidelines. Never. I think he had a great sense of perspective when it came to that. When you're 10, 11, 12 years old, you want to feel good about the things you're doing right. He would always do that. Even for the kids who were struggling. And it wasn't just to save face in front of other parents. Sure, he had to deal with so-and-so's dad complaining about his son's playing time. It's the downside of the job--you know, the unpaid job he's volunteering his free time for. He just liked to be a part of it. He didn't care if kids were slow or uncoordinated. It was a very common thing for me to hear on the way home: "Man, that kid is always out of position and is going to give me a heart attack one day," he'd say, running his hand through his hair and shaking his head, "but I love that kid. He's a little fireball, isn't he?" Nobody likes to lose, but even more than that, I think the last thing my dad would have wanted is to be coaching a team of jerks. Don't be dirty. Don't be a dick. It's something that I carry with me today. We're out here to have fun, to enjoy the game. Nobody's getting paid.

Alongside of this, my dad was a big contributor in Scouting. I was a Boy Scout throughout middle school and high school, even though it was something I viewed as uncool and didn't want to admit it to people. But the experiences I had in it, I wouldn't replace. And more often than not, my dad was a factor in that. When I started out with the troop I was in, he would come along and help out as needed. After a couple of years, he took over as scoutmaster, lovingly called "Koach" by my friends. And he devoted himself to it. Even with all of the other things he was doing--taking care of the house, preparing for his three children to go to college, doing numerous bike rides, regularly giving blood, helping out his parents at the drop of a hat, attending all of my and my sisters' activities--he put forth a ton of time dedicated to Scouting. It's not just showing up to the meetings and going on trips. Planning the trips, board meetings, leadership meetings, e-mails, phone calls, district council meetings, fundraising, the list goes on and on. But the most important thing he did throughout all of it was to get to know the kids. And this might be a recurring theme, but, especially the ones who were struggling. I was a teenager then, I knew what it was like to look at other kids and think they were weird and not want to talk to them. But my dad didn't believe in that. Sure, he knew just as well as I did that some kids were just assholes and wanted to be a pain. But the kids who were a little bit awkward, a little bit slow, the ones who not many other people paid attention to, those were the kids he gave the most encouragement to. I feel ashamed of myself now for not appreciating that more. But in a lot of ways I think that comes out in how I view people today. I'm not saying I'm a saint and I know for sure I don't have the patience that he does, but I do think that everyone needs at least a chance. And I don't think it's a coincidence that it's a character trait that I admire in him.

He gave and gave and gave to that organization, long after he stepped down, long after I left and moved on, and I think that's symbolic of his attitude in general. They thanked him in a number of ways, but I'm not sure that there's enough thanks around for what he did. And that's okay with him. I think he appreciates being thanked, just as anyone would, but I know that he looks back on his time with scouting and he looks at the kids who came through the program under him, and knowing that they succeeded is the one thing he really wants out of it. That's wonderful. And that's selfless. He does a lot of things for others--much more so than I could ever conceive of doing--and often times without batting an eyelash. I'm pretty sure that my sister would agree that he's been quite indispensable in helping her with her first home. And my grandfather might be buried in an overgrown jungle if it wasn't for my dad always checking in on him. And I'd probably be stuck on the side of the road in the middle of the night, as I have been a few times, helpless and hopeless if it wasn't for him. He's generous more than anything. But he's also funny, has a sense of humor about himself, and appreciates a good time. He's incredibly respectful towards women, which is a trait that I can't thank him enough for teaching me. And he's a smart dude. In fact, if you're reading this and know of a position available for a trustworthy guy with decades of experience in engineering sales, let me know, as I couldn't think of a person more qualified or worthy of a job opportunity.

Just this past summer, a close friend of mine who was part of scouting with me, and whose opinion I greatly respect, told me something that made me kind of emotional. He basically told me that, even though his dad is a great guy and has always been there for him, he thought he always viewed my dad as a secondary father figure. Not a replacement, just someone else he could look up to and respect in the same way. It was kind of mind-blowing to me, not that it surprised me, but it was just kind of touching. That someone who had a great pair of parents himself could turn to me and tell me how much he appreciated everything that my dad did for him was just a sign to me that I don't think I give him enough credit for what he does. I may not see him every day or every week like I used to, and I know for sure I don't answer his messages as frequently as he would like me to (I'm still a work in progress), but he's still the most important part of who I am as a person. He's still the first person I call when I do something I'm excited about, or I'm nervous about, or if I need directions no matter where I am (seriously, he's a human GPS). He's the strongest man I know, even if he isn't the world's most stereotypical "manly man tough guy". But I'm okay with that. I like how I turned out. And maybe if it had been different, I wouldn't have been able to take this time to tell him how much I love him.

Happy Birthday, Dad. I'm glad to have you as my best friend.