Father to (almost) Father: An Ode to my Dad

With fatherhood only a few days away, I really wanted to sit down and take time to reflect on my life experience. How did I define fatherhood? What does being a dad actually look like? How does that relationship work? In order to answer those questions, I turned to the best example in my dad. The following is what I was able to come up with, plenty of thank-yous included. 

 

"If you admire somebody you should go ahead and tell 'em

People never get the flowers while they can still smell 'em." 

                                                                                - Kanye West

    Okay, okay. Yes, it's a Kanye West quote. But, stay with me here. 

    I mean, there's definitely some truth in that lyric, isn't there? Think about it. How often do we take the people we love for granted? Do we always say "I love you" or "thank you" every chance we get? Do we go out of our way without thought for those who mean the most? Without expecting anything in return? And how about even simpler than that... Do we look a waitress in the eye and let them know you recognize them as a person first, over a server? Would we hold a door open for the next person? Whichever way you swing it, I'm probably guilty of some of these more often than I'd like to admit. It's something I've really worked on the last couple of years; just being better at being better. 

    In a way, this brought me to my relationship with my dad. 

    My memories are pretty muddy these days, but of what I can remember, my dad and are weren't the stereotypical father-and-son archetype. Right off the bat, I know I was a mama's boy. Growing up, she was able to be home with me alot while my dad was busy providing a more than comfortable living for our three-person family. So, Mom and I would go to the park, sit by the pool, visit her friends, and watch movies while he swung hammers and lugged lumber during the day.

    On top of that strong mother-son bond, I was the creative type. I wanted to build LEGO ninja hideouts and play Nintendo 64. My dad was more into football and dirtbikes. There was just a natural disconnect. His hobbies were loud, macho, and unapologetic... Worlds apart from where I liked to be, in the comfort of my own space. Looking back, I think my dad was intimidated with having to compete with Mario and my mother for my attention. So, maybe he just accepted little me for being who I was and worked at it from there. He gave it several good tries to bond, too.

    One of my favorite stories my dad likes to tell, is the one of how he planned a whole weekend at the motocross races for just me and him. 

    Prior to the event, he had bought me miniature replica bikes, with the likes of Travis Pastrana, Ricky Carmichael, and Jeremy McGrath behind the handlebars, which I loved. I'd play with those for hours, building my own tracks with Lincoln Logs with the all corresponding action figure gear and tools you could use to take the tires and rims off the bikes. Needless to say, I wrapped myself up in these enough to be convinced to check out the real races in person. So, he got us all packed up and we headed three hours out to the races. According to him, as soon as we got there, I cried out that it was too loud and that I wanted to turn right back around and go home! 

    In relation to that, there's another story he's told on a few occasions, about a time when he he raced motocross semi-professionally. We had been waiting for his heat race and it had been dog hot out. Out of frustration with that waiting and the weather, I told my dad, "Just hurry up, go out, and crash so we can get outta' here." Sure enough, he ended up doing exactly that during his next race that weekend. 

Needless to say, there was just a disconnect there...

    Though, we all had each other and loved each other. Far before my brother and sister were born, there was a sense of us-versus-them while living in Charlotte, North Carolina. We spent most of my childhood hitting Myrtle Beach for the weekends, eating out wherever we wanted five nights a week, and going to Harris Teeter to get starter logs for a fire in our fireplace at night (even if it was summer). And those things I never forgot. We had all we could want, and that was good enough for all of us.

    Again, in hindsight, I think I just took my dad for granted. I knew he loved me and I loved him, but that's about where it started and ended. I can remember pretending to fall asleep in the back of his truck on the way home a few times, just so he'd have to pick me up out of my seat and carry me up the three flights of stairs to our apartment. I'd hug him around the neck and peek to watch the concrete of the sidewalk turn into the wood staircase, and then eventually carpet once we had made it inside our apartment. Then, I'd shut my eyes up tight and let him place me in my Dale Earnhardt-themed sheets. And those times I never forgot.

    But, by the time we moved home to New York from North Carolina, we were starting over. My dad didn't have nearly the framing opportunities he had had in Charlotte, but knew being closer to the extended family would be good for us. September 11th, 2001 had dried up Charlotte's working cash flow, the banks all buttoned up on project loans, and so it was time to head north. Once we made it to back to upstate New York and had a place of our own (after bouncing from one family's couch to another for a little while), we weren't left with much. 

    I can vividly remember having an empty house, with only one room having furniture. My baby brother, who had just been born months earlier, slept with my mom and dad on the bottom bunk, while I was on top bunk. My steel, red bunk bed set was what we had for the three of us. The rest of our stuff had been in a poorly conditioned storage, basically ruined before we had a place that was ours to use it all in. During those nights, I'd lie awake and stare out into what would become our dining room, dark and empty. Each movement of the steel frame would creak and send an echo into the open spaces of the house, no doors to muffle the noises. But, we all still had each other, and that's all we needed. I was grateful for all the sacrifices my dad had made to bring his family closer to family.  

    That was how I think our relationship was for a long, long time. Mutual love, but distant. Even more so when my little brother became who he would be for the formative years of his life. I think the gap between my dad and I widened; Blake was everything I wasn't. He couldn't wait to wrestle you down, throw a ball around, get rowdy, and be a man's son. My dad was finally able to truly live through a son, like he hoped to do with his first-born. Yet, I was never that boy for him... but I was glad Blake was. My dad deserved that, because I know it was something he longed to experience.

    They were both the middle child, so that helped their bond, too. Dad would overlook a lot of things my brother would put him through, simply because he could relate. Naturally, he didn't want Blake to ever feel like he did when growing up, no matter the situation. So, I watched as my dad got as much out of a father-son relationship as he could with Blake. Part of me was jealous, but that just wasn't what we had.

    Once our family grew by one with the birth of my little sister, Savannah, the years kept on without dad or I really making a developed effort to understand one another. I think we both thought it was just fine where it was at. It was the way the chips had fallen. Or, at least maybe that's how I felt. He was never a hugger, not really the one to say 'I love you', nor talk too deeply about anything. He didn't have the greatest example growing up, either. His relationship with his father was relatively cold and had turned bitter later in life. This I understood and accepted. I wished it would change sometimes, but didn't have a clear plan to initiate anything of the sort. The truth was, he was stubborn and so was I. 

That was all up until I almost lost him.

    I'll never forget that night being being woken out of a dead sleep. I'll never forget the chicken and rice we had eaten for dinner hours before, my dad just staring off while eating. There, but not really there. I'll never forget the look on my mother's face, or the pitch of her screams. I'll never forget being unable to press the buttons hard enough on our home phone, due to the shock and panic. I couldn't even tell 911 what our address was... That night changed everything for me.

    But that night came and went, and after he healed, I knew I had to be different. I knew I had to be better at being better. My dad needed me just as he always had, except now, I was going to make it my mission to be exactly who he needed me to be when he needed he needed me. We were both overdue. 

    Our foundation was established through a newly-shared love of Supercross (arguably the most famous version of dirt bike racing). We just started over, bonding more than ever. He told me which professional races he took me to as a kid (the ones we didn't leave at my request), the legends I had seen live as a kid that I hadn't remembered, and some of the awesome guys associated with the sport that he himself had brushed shoulders with. He shared stories of his childhood riding friends, pro race memories, and season news revolving around the guys we had started watching on TV weekly. It wasn't football or baseball, but it was something. It was a start. 

    We attended our first live event as a complete family a few hours from home and following that, dad and mom would fly down to Florida (where I had lived) to attend Daytona Speedway Supercross every year for a good two or three years!

    Dad and I were getting somewhere, and I made sure to hug him hello and goodbye any chance I got. I wrote "I love you" in cards for the holidays and birthdays. I'd soak up as much of his words, stories, and memories as he'd give. Even though I was a thousand miles away, we had gotten closer than ever. We were finally getting to a place I think we both always wanted to be with each other. 'Love you's' became standard, and he was going for hugs quicker than I was!

    I noticed goodbyes became a lot harder, too. By no means is my dad and emotional guy, but he became one. And for that, I couldn't be more thankful. He is still a man's man, but a human being and father first. Now, he's just him, which makes it a lot easier for an older, more grounded me to meet him halfway emotionally. I'd like to think through my effort, I helped him get there as an individual. I feel more connected to my father now more than ever. 

    I can count on him for sound advice, his undivided attention, and some pretty awesome tips and life tricks. A lot of people I know can't say the same and I know I'm really fortunate. I'm just sad it took almost losing my dad before gaining him. 

    Life is unfair, and it's hard. My dad always made sure that those facts were ones I didn't have to face as long as he could. He sacrificed his body, mind, and heart for his wife and his kids. He's not perfect, but doesn't have to pretend to be anymore. He's flawed, but awesome. 

    In the last nine months alone, I think we've learned alot from one another, me more so from him without question. I think we understand how each other are wired now, perhaps finally realising we share a lot of the same wirework. And if Supercross was our new foundation, I have a feeling my newly acquired fatherhood will be our studs, insulation, and drywall. 

    And that's all I really want to be for my son. 

    I want our relationship to be a home that we build together. It'll be a constant work-in-progress, because no one is perfect. I know from my dad that fatherhood is job that is never done. We might not have the same interests or want to watch the same things, but as long as we have each other to vent to, share with, and learn from, I think we'll be just fine. One nail, screw, and bolt at a time.

And as long as he's still around, for these reasons and so many more, I'll always thank my dad. For what he has become to me, especially over the last couple of years. I will continue to try and selfishly steal as much of his time anytime we're together, and I don't apologize for it.

Thanks dad for everything, dad. I love you.  

- Austin