Another Summer, Another Goodbye
Losses and Gains
My last post was about a letter I didn't write; today's is about a letter I had wished I didn't have to write. Two months ago today, my grandma on my father's side died very suddenly and very unexpectedly. Geography had kept us from being close in my childhood, and it also kept us apart in her passing; every effort made to make it to the funeral was in vain. Regardless of the distance between us, I felt close in writing a parting letter to her, which I posted with my dad to be placed in the velvet lining of her coffin before it was lowered into the Illinois earth where she will forever lay.
As unfortunate as her passing has been, the experience has really strengthened the bond between my dad and I. There has never been a physical distance between he and I, but there has frequently been an emotional one. Historically, both parties were at fault, I think. Over my lifetime, my dad has introduced me to a lot of interests that I have loved from the start (history, model rocketry, complicated board games), a lot of interests I eventually learned to like (Star Wars, Das Boot, American football), and some interests I will likely never love (most 80s music, punk rock, collecting every business card known to man).
My dad always played the Good Cop or Indifferent Cop to my mom, who had to alternately play both Bad Cop and Good Cop, and everyone always told me that I came from my dad's side of the family; I never took it as a compliment. I always identified with my mom's ambition, passion, and extroversion and on the other hand, my dad's easygoing nature, contentedness, and familial introspection seemed lacking. I ascribed some sort of inferiority to just going through life and being content with everything that happens. Looking back, I think I hated his traits so much because I have so many of them myself. I recognize that I am the balance of my parent's traits; sometimes ambitious and outgoing and sometimes simply contented and introspective.
I see my history and sometimes I see it literally; while going through photo albums with my dad recently, I flipped a page and saw myself - or at least I thought it was myself until my mind recognized the person in the portrait as a 23-year-old version of my dad. On the next page was a photo of him in the mid-80s, shortly after moving to Phoenix from Illinois. Standing on a fallen pine tree, he was in his mid-20s, fit, tan, and more excited to be on the Mogollon Rim than any native Arizonan could ever be. "Ages and inches of waistline ago," I thought, as my eyes glanced up at his belly. But in only moments, I had seen myself 30 years ago and myself 30 years from now. "Uh oh."
In the months that have passed, my dad and I have made sure to have dinner together at least once every week. Usually this means that we end up at his new favorite restaurant of all, which happens to be my girlfriend's aunt's restaurant. I really can't blame him though; once you've had real Chinese food, you don't really want to eat anywhere else again, so here's to many more plates of house special fried rice...