Today I ventured to Duluth where I turned in paperwork to get back on the sailing schedule with the fleet. I also visited with friends, had a few laughs and enjoyed a fantastic cheeseburger. As I drove along I marveled at the fall colors. The blur of 70 mph somehow enhanced the experience.
The death of my father was not a surprise. He’d been sick for twelve years and we knew he would not recover. In an effort to find better medical care, Mom and Dad relocated. The care they’ve received has been outstanding; medications and physical therapy kept Dad around for a few extra years.
Those extra years were a pivotal time in my life.
My career has always been a top priority. Driven to excel, make money and gain recognition as one of the best, I fit the “Type A” personality profile and worked, worked, worked. A few years ago I interviewed for a job in Los Angeles. The promise of big money blurred my common sense and I was on my way to a wildly dysfunctional workplace. During the interview process I visited my parents and shared my hopes to climb farther up the broadcasting ladder.
One evening while Mom was cooking supper, Dad and I sat in the living room and talked. I confidently laid out my plans as he sat in his favorite blue chair. I was somewhat startled to see a look of dismay cross his face. Dad leaned toward me and I saw tears in his eyes. He explained that he’d spent many years working and enduring excess stress in an effort to retire comfortably. Unfortunately, the stress took an unforeseen toll and ruined his health. With tears on his face he gently urged me to get a good job and be happy. My father was not an emotional man and a tearful conversation was extremely unusual.
Parents have instincts. Dad saw through my greed and knew that I was not on my way to a better place. He knew what I didn’t.
I didn’t get the position in Los Angeles and eventually came to realize that I no longer enjoyed broadcasting. A career once filled with innovative ideas and creative production had decayed into a dull routine. My employer suffered a loss of vision and integrity. It didn’t fit anymore, and I didn’t belong.
In an effort to find a better life, I quit my profession of twenty-two years. It was a crazy thing to do. It made no sense to anyone around me, but when I told Dad he was supportive. Letting go and starting over has been more difficult than I can explain, but it has been very rewarding. I’ve met people who have been generous and kind beyond comprehension. I’ve seen sights and been places I’d never imagined. While corresponding with a friend about my adventures I wrote, “This isn’t a job, it’s a fantasy.” He still reminds me of the words that highlight my transition from drudgery to wide-awake.
That’s how it feels. I’m awake now.
I’ve let go of my career, a steady paycheck, my ego, and tons of anger. What I have gained has been incredible. The purpose of this blog is to offer glimpses of what I’ve enjoyed and provide a conduit so others can understand the world is a big and glorious place. I went from sitting in an office to sitting on top of a freighter. At the end of the workday I used to sit in traffic. At the end of a workday on a ship, I watch the sunset as we sail through fresh water and clean air. There’s just no comparison.
My father understood the process of starting over and leaving the comforts of home. An Air Force Chaplain, he walked with me as we lived in foreign countries and traveled the world. He baptized me in the Jordan River in Israel. We ate pizza together in Italy. We joked around in the museums of France. As we walked through a concentration camp in Germany he made sure I understood the destruction hatred brings. He taught me honesty, and that doing the right thing is really the only option. My father encouraged me toward adventure and away from stress, toward fulfillment and away from ritual.
I was prepared for my father’s death. I envisioned the visitation at the funeral home and was braced for it. I thought about the funeral service and was ready. I wrote a tribute to Dad and delivered the first four minutes without a problem. However, the final 60 seconds were more strained as I realized my father’s body was in a casket behind me. With tears rolling down my face I struggled through the final page.
The burial ceremony was like a scene from a film. Military honors included a twenty-one-gun salute, and the flag that once draped the casket was carefully folded, then presented to my mother. I sat next to her as the surreal events swirled around us. I believed I was prepared for my father’s death, but I was not. A sailing buddy of mine said it best, “Alan, you might think you are prepared, but there’s really no way you can be. Losing a parent is like nothing else you will ever experience…”
There are times in life when we have a choice about letting go, and there are times when control is not within our grasp. Although I’ve held my father’s hand for the last time – his lifetime of care will always have a grip on me. Whether I was an awkward teenager or an over-confident adult, Dad kindly offered me acceptance and guidance.
My tribute at the funeral:
My parents moved here five years ago. The community and support they’ve found has been outstanding. However, the unfortunate aspect of their relocation has been that no one really had the opportunity to know Dad. By the time they settled in, his illness had taken a toll.
Let me give you a brief glimpse of what you missed:
Dad loved squeaky-clean jokes that were only mildly funny. Actually, some jokes weren’t funny at all. But, once he started laughing – the joke somehow seemed better than it really was. It was easy to laugh with him, and participate in his dry wit that was lost on those not paying close attention.
Dad taught me to stay out of debt, urged me to explore the world of electricity and radio at an early age, and took advantage of our travels around the globe to teach me about different cultures, and that the world is a really, really big place. A world view which valued the traditions of others was important to him, and he made certain that it was important to his sons.
There are two qualities about Dad that stand out in my mind:
#1 - His compassion. It was uncomplicated and without fanfare. He was not a glory seeker – his work was often known only to those directly involved.
#2 His non-judgmental stance for those in trouble. When you consider compassion – I suppose it can only truly be effective when it is coupled with unconditional acceptance of the individual. Whether a GI was in trouble, or just lonely – Dad had a way of easing the strain.
I remember when I was a little kid – and a really cute one at that – Dad and I made the rounds on Christmas Eve. We were living on the Air Force Base in Little Rock, Arkansas at the time. Mom baked Christmas cookies, sprinkled them with red and green sugar and put them on a plate, wrapping them in foil to keep them warm. Dad and I climbed into our old blue Plymouth which had been idling in the carport with the heater running. We drove to the base gates, where young men who were military police were on duty. Imagine an 18 year old – far from home – standing in a gatehouse, shivering on Christmas Eve. We appear, I get out of the car and hand over the plate of cookies - still warm from the oven. I learned at a very early age that kindness was simple, and universal.
While we were stationed in Anchorage, Alaska – we celebrated Thanksgiving at the base chapel. When the meal was ready to be served, Dad checked through the barracks to be certain no one was left out. But - the hallways were empty, everyone was gone. As he finished checking the last dorm, he heard a woman crying. He looked around and found a young lady chain smoking and sobbing – sitting alone in the November Alaskan cold, on the back steps of the barracks. He invited her to come to the chapel and enjoy the meal and fellowship. Her response was more than negative, and contained some colorful language. He didn’t walk away. He sat down.
Eventually the chaplain and the chain smoker made their way to the table, and the taste of turkey replaced nicotine, even if only for a little while.
These are only two of the many stories that I know, there are many others that I never heard. There are countless faces I never saw – and circumstances that were held in strict confidence.
For many, including me – my father was a refuge. A man with deeply held beliefs and strong convictions – Dad was a man of his word.
Compassion coupled with devotion to God and country – my father was truly a great man.
Thanks Dad.
