For much of my life, my father has been an enigma to me. I
look at pictures of when I was an infant and a toddler, I see young man smiling
and playing with his first born son. A handsome boy playing in the surf and sand along the
coast of Southern California, with his beautiful young bride and child. It was a blue
jeans and white t-shirt innocence, with a sparkle in his eyes and an ever
present playful grin on his face. I often wondered what happened to that 20
year old boy.
That is not the
father that I know or remember. The father of my memories is one of long
absences, often weeks at a time with no word. The only clues as to where he
might have been, were the odd bits of pocket change left on his dresser from his
latest journey. He wouldn’t and couldn’t
tell what he had been working on, it simply wasn’t allowed. It was Top Secret, and therefore off limits. You
see my dad was a government man, a civilian engineer with the Navy for all the
good that tells you. I had friends whose dads were doctors, attorneys, salesmen
and engineers. Their dads didn’t disappear and miss birthdays and school events
unless they were deployed active military. So why did mine have to leave when
he was a civilian?
My dads’ time at home was awkward if not distant. I could
never understand how when he got home from work, he could read the paper and
have Walter Cronkite on the TV at the same time. He never looked at the screen,
but if we ever got close enough to change the channel a grumbled “don’t think
about it” would come from behind the raised paper. That was the view most of my
friends had of my dad, a headless body with folded news print for a face.
Everything my dad did was with a purpose and a plan and laid
out in precise detail. He mowed the lawn in a checkerboard pattern, alternating
the direction each week. The sprinklers would not dare over spray what he determined
to be their allotted space. We had multiple lawn mowers for the various types
of grass growing in our yard. The cars were maintained and hand washed by him,
and always dried with a Chamois cloth because it didn’t leave streaks or lint.
I was never allowed to have pants with holes or patches on
the knees (both popular in the 60’s and 70’s), I assume he didn’t want to be
thought of as a poor provider. I had to always wear a belt and have my shirt
tucked in. Long hair was not an option, we’ll have no hippies in this house.
You didn’t question what dad said, EVER. He spoke with such authority and certainty,
there was no way he could be wrong. He knew everything and was the smartest man
I knew, Albert Einstein couldn’t hold a candle to him. I was afraid to ask for
help, because I rarely understood the way he explained it. To my dad’s way of
thinking, there were theorems, postulates and equations. If you followed the
steps for them you would get the right answer. I on the other hand wanted to
know WHY it worked, I had to question everything. I am sure I was as much of a conundrum to him
as he was to me.
We were a vacationing family, and took many long multi week
camping trips throughout the western United States. It was as if with each passing
day of a trip, he became more relaxed
and at ease with himself and with us. I lived for those trips. As I got older
he would take me backpacking in the Sierra’s with the scouts or with his friend
and son. I cherish those trips to this day, when I didn’t have to share my dad with the evening news or the paper, or
even my brothers. He was mine and I loved being with him. He taught me the beauty of solitude on these trips to the back country, and the inner peace that can be found from sitting on the shore of a pristine Alpine lake. He spoke to me without words, sharing something of himself that only being there at that time and place would allow.
The decades have gone by far faster than I could ever
thought possible. My dad is no longer the spry young man he once was, yet he is still
in better shape than me. The auto repairs have been turned over to the dealer,
the skis have most likely made their last run this year and snow blowing the driveway will soon be a thing
of the past. While he is slowing down he can still be found crawling under the house in the middle
of the night to find a leak and he still mows his own yard.
The layers of complexity that confounded me as a youth, are quickly
falling away. As some government documents and programs outlive their security restrictions,
I learn more about him. He is no longer bound to keep to himself some of his work
he did on behalf of our country. He did some rather amazing things, of which he
should be proud. He will never boast (it’s not in his nature) and getting him
to talk about himself, is about as easy as pulling an abscessed tooth from an angry
lion.
We still do not see eye to eye on many things, and some I
doubt we ever will. It may have taken 51 years, but I can finally say that I
understand him. I now know what happened to that 20 year old boy. He became a
man that covered himself in layers of armor to protect the secrets he held, and
to keep his family safe and secure. I see that young man when he hugs his
grandchildren and reads a story or snuggles with his great-granddaughters. I have seen him take my mother’s hand to
steady her walk, and sit by her side in the hospital while she is recovering from
surgery. He is with her every day until she comes home.
I can’t recall ever hearing him tell me that he loved me
when I was young (yet I’m sure he did). I somehow always innately knew that he did. I watched how he and my grandfather interacted, and
I learned Rogers men don’t say it they show it. My dad is a man of few words. He proved his love, by sheltering me from a
cold harsh world, coming to rescue me in Washington D.C. when I was 14 and on
trip without my family and feeling scared and alone, throwing me safely from a
boat as it sank from beneath our feet in Mission Bay, nourishing both my body
and soul, teaching me the value of service and work through his example, passing along to
me every good book he read, and most of all for NEVER giving up on me even when
I already had.. Fierce Loyalty and Devotion
to Family, are phrases that describe the man I call dad.
On this Father’s Day I want to share how I feel about my
dad. I am the man I am today, in no small part because of the things he taught
me. I am grateful for his love and protection and support. My dad is quite
simply my HERO.
I love you Dad.
