I walked down the steps from the plane. I could see the concrete tower my father worked best from this vantage point. The wind was mighty that day, dry, hot and would pinch your skin every once in awhile. The sun blazed through the air obscured with the sand pellets, brown and grey all around us but the bright blue of the Gulf of Oman. My father waited till I was down the stairs and put two suitcases one on each side of me, I don't recall if I was scared I would blow away or if he thought I would blow away. I held on to each handle as the wind whipped around us. My sister and brother beside me, our younger brother in our mothers arms we stood on the tarmac. We were home. This was the same tarmac they found our first pet roaming and in general making a nuisance for aircraft takeoff and landings, Clarence, our donkey.
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How do I write something about/for my Dad, for his 80th Birthday that is worthy; I have an idea...I won't use French. I think that's funny and you're welcome. I'm half my mom and half my dad, practically down the middle. My love of homemaking and creation of all things I get from my mom and all things that fly, orbit, travel the Heavens, and philosophy from my dad; one of the greatest men that has ever existed and that has made such a great impact on my life, all of it positive. I hold my parents in the utmost regard and I don't mind saying so, publicly.
"if you can't dazzle them with brilliance...baffle them with bullshit"
Do I say, "Sorry I'm such an asshole. I was a rotten child and I didn't listen often enough, probably still don't."? Please Note that down and consider it done.
A bit of back ground...
I don't know what it's like to grow up the middle of Massachusetts in a factory town, dirt poor, living in a tenet house on an oiled street with not a pot to piss in. I know he got out of that town as soon as he could, but didn't leave it behind. Can you hear the accent of a tall young man with ears a bit big for his small head covered in a mass of Chestnut hair, sharp hazel eyes and with an air of street cool when he walked in a room...that's my dad.
At 18 and a graduate of High School he had no plan for the future but to enlist in the United States Marine Corps. His signature on the dotted line was the catalyst of adventure that he hadn't imagined as a young man. A future of Sultans and Princes, of Communist revolutions and uprisings, proxy wars and hostages. A life time too many of Bot flies and bills to pay. Troubled children and a troubled world to tend to. A future he and my mom built, a family and hard work. The American Dream...a business and land of their own to grow crops. A place where the children and grand children would come home. Put in some hard work and you get three squares.
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Reading was implemented in our early years. We read the classics, Ayn Rand and Warren Murphy, he would quiz us and we would discuss so we could understand the meanings behind the stories. How we grew up was make sure you know what you are talking about and if you don't know something find it out, and you should always ask questions.
We had a reel to reel that my dad would set up with old stories of the Lone Ranger and The Shadow. Where all the kids in the compound would make beds of blankets and pillows, half of us under the dining room table, spread into the living room on our shiny terrazzo floors, as we lay intently with our head in hands on elbows as we imagined as we listened.
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When I was 15 my father sat me down for a discussion of standards. We were in the United States now and the rules were very different from where I grew up. The question was...What kind of standard will I carry. The topic came up via my speech class. I was prepping to argue pro life or pro choice, we wouldn't know which until that fateful moment you get up to the podium. This was a moment of turn in my life where I made a commitment to a Standard of Life. I'm Pro Life, I promised, I didn't promise something and say, 'I know dad.', I said, "I understand dad." The two words, knowing and understanding, are different. I do not believe in the death penalty, there is no system not corruptible, that is part of carrying a Standard. My father helped instill that in me...the true meaning of life and always see the goodness in it.
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A bit over 20 years ago now he had and survived a heart-attack when we were in Peru, adopting our daughter, BrownNut, We didn't know till we were on the way home. He didn't want us to know and distract us...his Grand daughter, the most important thing in the world, the future he built, was on her way home from her birth country. His first grandbaby. I won the best daughter award that year.
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Now a days it's a discussion of gardening sprinkled like fertilizer into the political discourse...gotta keep everybody grounded, to reality, rocking on his chair that works just fine.
The smell of unfiltered smokes puffed a bit here and a bit there, and coffee throughout the day. An orange soda to quench the afternoon heat.
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My father is one of those really smart people...the invited to mensa kind of smart people that say no thank you, the kind of smart that can track multiple levels in space and time and keep destruction to a level of zero. My dad is a problem solver. I know there are other dads that are great too. People should have really good roll models...
My dad...he is one of the best ever.
I love you dad. Thank you for all the sacrifices you made so we could have the life we did. Thanks for bringing us everywhere. Thank you for all the life lessons when we didn't want them. Thank you for the hours of time you gave to my questions. Thank you for every samosa you brought home in a paper bag.
