Two years ago after my dad retired, he and my stepmom moved 3,000 miles away. Before their migration to the right coast they had never lived more than a car ride away, so I was ambivalent about their pending adventure. I felt excited for them, but also a deep sadness. My dad and I have always been like two peas in a pod, sharing many of those inscrutable familial qualities that are difficult to describe, yet readily perceptible to even casual observers. Our relationship is facile and meaningful, never forsaking substance for fun and vice versa.
As is the way with dads, mine handed down life lessons. There were so many important ones: be capable; be curious; be active; be creative; be open-minded; read; read; read. I think his most notable lesson, though, was to have strong opinions and defensible points of view. His words and actions made it clear that frivolous speech and dimwitted behavior were for lazy people. Even as a child, I knew that he expected me not just to speak my mind, but also to be thoughtful and accountable when I did. Heeding this advice has directed the way that I research and learn, negotiate, defend myself when necessary, and communicate in general.
My dad cultivated outspokenness by engaging me in discussions on subjects of every sort. He encouraged me to flex my sense of humor, prodding me when it wasn’t up to par and delighting in my comedic successes. Some of my best memories are of sitting around the dinner table, debating, laughing and confabulating for hours. Little by little, others would drop away until only my dad and I remained. We would discuss, analyze, dissect; agreeing mostly, but not always.
The realization that our cherished roundtables would discontinue when my folks moved gave me a lot of dread, but they had a dream and I was genuinely happy for them, too. Two years later, I can’t imagine my dad living anywhere else. He walks everywhere and explores everything, he’s satisfying his civic interests, he volunteers, he’s social, he’s healthy; in short, he is himself, the self that he imagined he would be in retirement.
Since my folks have been gone, my dad’s beloved San Francisco Giants have won two pennants. I can’t help imagining that these championships are like a siren song to their lifelong fan, Come back to us, come back to us. But an enticement this sweet conceals an insidious reality in which my dad would inevitably become restless and unsatisfied. Dad and B. are where they’re supposed to be – for now – wholly enjoying themselves and taking full advantage of life’s offerings. It’s a joy to see that retirement doesn’t have to equal boredom or feebleness; on the contrary, it’s the time to truly live.
Another lesson learned. Thanks, Dad.
Awwww. I am so honored. I have tears. Today I thought of you when I went to visit Chris. I took a picture with Chris for you, because many years from now when you look up to see Chris, you can say, "My dad has touched that statue." People won't understand how I did that, and that is part of this wonderful trip we are on to see things and have them take our breath away.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Child of Mine.