I don't know if driving a long distance by myself is healthy.
There is too much time to think. While driving on I -15 I listened to NPR,
(National Public Radio) before channel surfing which included stops at
Springsteen Radio and even some Elvis. I have always had a special spot for a
few of Elvis's songs.
I got bored. I went through my checklist of family, friends, and
work issues. I can't lie. A few work related items rudely pushed their way to
the front of the line. I don't like that. The reality is, it happens.
As you may recall, I confessed last week that our seven year old
son, Ryan asked me to play handball and I reluctantly agreed to play to a score
of, "one". What kind of father agrees to play with their son for less
than one minute? You're looking at him. As I passed the other
cars near Corona, CA, people probably wondered why the guy in the Honda Element
with the pictures on the side of his car was rubbing his balding head. It was
because, I blew it.
I know many other parents struggle with this same issue every
single day and sometimes late into the night. Working hard to provide for our
families, while still trying to capture and maximize the precious time we have
with our kids? Time so fleeting. Before we know it, they
will transition to wearing the yoke of responsibility associated with young
adulthood.
Reflecting on my childhood, I had a great dad. But in the
balancing scale of family and work my father pretty much stayed on the work
side. He spent so much time there thinking about work as well as working,
our mom and us seven kids were pushed up so high on the other end of the scale,
I don't think he really saw us. I thought I understood him, but in many
ways, I really did not know him at all.
Our dad was from what has been frequently called, "the
greatest generation". He was not only a war hero, but post combat
operations he worked night and day to prevent nuclear bombs from accidentally
detonating. He even kept small clumps of sand which is called
Trinitite in an envelope hidden in his dresser drawer. It was sand that had
been transformed into a strange glass substance during the incomprehensible
searing heat of a nuclear explosion. He said he had a piece for each of
us. I'm sure a Geiger counter would chirp like an angry bird if it was
anywhere near it.
I'm not sure how many nuclear explosions my dad witnessed as a
Federal employee of the Atomic Energy Commission, (AEC). Later in life, he
spoke of how they would attach local newspapers to wooden sticks outside the
bomb shelter and the radioactive flash would actually burn out all the darkened
letters. The scientists and engineers would then hold the newspapers in their
hands mesmerized how all those darkened words and pictures would be vaporized
cleanly from the white paper.
Our dad also worked on the weapons systems for the Stealth
Bomber. He even invented a safety device called the, "Shay Collar"
which was attached to live "pits" or nuclear bombs as they were being
assembled. As my dad said, "the collar kept evil people with long
fingers from ruining a perfectly good day". His dry sense of humor
and understatement of cataclysmic events was legendary.
As a kid, I did not know he was funny. To me he was, The Great
Santini. Someone you loved, but feared. I could not relax around him until
many, many years later. To this day, I will never forget one afternoon when I
saw the smile. The type of smile I promised myself I wanted to share with
my children so often, it would never be considered remarkable.
It must have been fifth grade. A science teacher in our school
had us launch hot air balloons made of clear plastic laundry bags fastened to
two sticks of balsa wood with birthday candles as the heat source.
In the cold, thin mountain air of Albuquerque, New Mexico they ascended quietly
into the morning sky. It was wonderful. One of the balloons malfunctioned and
never got off the ground. Our launch crew had managed to melt the dry cleaner
bag. Though disappointed, I decided to hide the remnants of our airship in a
trash can knowing I would return after school where I concealed the balsa wood
pieces with their partially burned candles under my jacket for the walk home.
I sneaked into my parents bedroom closet where I carefully
slipped a dry cleaner bag off of one of my dad's suits. I took my stolen
plastic bag and ran into our back yard where I carefully reassembled the hot
air balloon wondering if the remaining candles could actually provide enough
heat to get the balloon into the air. The dead, cold, brown grass in our back
yard crunched under my feet as I performed my delicate surgery. I knew my
dad would not be home for hours. I took a pack of matches from the
kitchen drawer next to my parents carton of, "Kent" cigarettes.
As the evening sun began dipping to the west, I clumsily got
most of the remaining candles lit while trying not to burn myself or melt the
dry cleaner bag. Magically, the hot air balloon began to levitate barely four
feet off of the ground. My heart was pounding in my chest because I
thought it might really rise into the air escaping the effects of gravity and
this lonely and cold back yard. I then heard the front door suddenly open.
The problem with our home was when the front door was open you
could see across our family room into our back yard. I think I stopped
breathing. I held my breath unable to move as the large glowing ball of light
began to slowly rise into the air as my father stepped through our front door.
I thought I was a dead man. I am not sure what caused his smile. Was it the
science of it? He set his briefcase down. A special wonder seemed
to spread across his face and then the smile. A smile I will never
forget. His eyes seemed to light up brighter then I had ever seen.
He said, "You did this", pointing the orb of light
with the flickering candles. I responded with one word, "yes". At
that moment, like a hesitant actor finally stepping onto the stage the balloon
seemed to leap into the air and began floating up and over our wood shingled
home. I immediately ran past my dad into the front yard to watch the balloon of
light as it traveled quickly higher and higher with melting candles dropping
from it like booster engines which had spent of all of their energy. I looked back
at my dad as he stood on the front porch. The only word he said was,
"fabulous".
As I ran with youthful vigor down the side streets by our home
chasing the balloon I was filled with joy. I kept thinking about how happy my
father was. Where did that smile come from? A smile I remember as clear
as if it happened yesterday. And of course, I thought, I hope he does not
miss that dry cleaner bag from his closet.
Yeah Ryan, Raymond, and Troy, work is important, but each of you
are so much more important, even if sometimes I let you get pushed out of
line....
Dad
Enjoy your children and your week!
