I always wanted my dad to be proud of me. I know he is, always will be, but there were some doubts along the way. See, I am not sure I am the son he wanted. He loves me, and I love him, but I was not the ideal child to be born to a country boy Marine from Mississippi.
In many ways we are just alike. I got a healthy dose of his sense of humor, an ironic sarcasm mixed with absurdity said in a low, deadpan tone from the back of the room. One of my favorite examples of this is a picture he took as a paratrooper. In the small photograph, you see a panaromic vista of farm land and ocean taken from high in the sky. In the very bottom of the frame are the tips of a pair of boots. The caption written in block pencil on the back simply reads, "My boots."
I also got his willingness to travel, to try new things, and to do the job right the first time so you can move on to do more. Always do more and revel in the doing rather than the accomplishment, the journey rather than the destination. Maybe that last part was learned, but he was a good if sometimes strict teacher.
We are also alike in our rejection of our father's position. Dad walked away from the library and left his mother to run it while he joined the Marines. Fate can be fickle, however, as he met a pretty young friend of his sister's that also happened to be a library student. After they were married, my mother worked at the library as the children's librarian under my grandfather until a year after I was born, when my grandfather passed away and and she took over. Dad worked offshore for years after while Mom ran the library.
Like all fathers and sons, we had our clashes. He is a healthy, active person that enjoys watching sports and being out working the land. I can be rather mired in sloth, prone to sit and read or play video games than see the sun shine. It must have hurt him when I rejected sports, as I am a rather large and imposing figure, the type that would have gone well on a defensive line had I gained muscle and worked on coordination.
But we worked it out and have a quiet understanding. My father and I love each other from afar, talk when we can about subjects we sometimes agree on, but are different people with the same goal. We both want me to do good, to be happy. Maybe as we get older we will both stop being as standoffish, and I know he's trying. I am trying to.
I could go on, but I think you see why I was not surprised to see him standing at the dispatch desk picking me up from the Banned Library Police Department and Bowling Center.
In many ways we are just alike. I got a healthy dose of his sense of humor, an ironic sarcasm mixed with absurdity said in a low, deadpan tone from the back of the room. One of my favorite examples of this is a picture he took as a paratrooper. In the small photograph, you see a panaromic vista of farm land and ocean taken from high in the sky. In the very bottom of the frame are the tips of a pair of boots. The caption written in block pencil on the back simply reads, "My boots."
I also got his willingness to travel, to try new things, and to do the job right the first time so you can move on to do more. Always do more and revel in the doing rather than the accomplishment, the journey rather than the destination. Maybe that last part was learned, but he was a good if sometimes strict teacher.
We are also alike in our rejection of our father's position. Dad walked away from the library and left his mother to run it while he joined the Marines. Fate can be fickle, however, as he met a pretty young friend of his sister's that also happened to be a library student. After they were married, my mother worked at the library as the children's librarian under my grandfather until a year after I was born, when my grandfather passed away and and she took over. Dad worked offshore for years after while Mom ran the library.
Like all fathers and sons, we had our clashes. He is a healthy, active person that enjoys watching sports and being out working the land. I can be rather mired in sloth, prone to sit and read or play video games than see the sun shine. It must have hurt him when I rejected sports, as I am a rather large and imposing figure, the type that would have gone well on a defensive line had I gained muscle and worked on coordination.
But we worked it out and have a quiet understanding. My father and I love each other from afar, talk when we can about subjects we sometimes agree on, but are different people with the same goal. We both want me to do good, to be happy. Maybe as we get older we will both stop being as standoffish, and I know he's trying. I am trying to.
I could go on, but I think you see why I was not surprised to see him standing at the dispatch desk picking me up from the Banned Library Police Department and Bowling Center.