A Post For Me

(This post is about feelings. If you don't like it then you are a cold robot that hates everyone. Or just me. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled nonsense later. I don't care if you don't read it because this post is for me.)

A couple days ago Baking With Plath wrote a post. Seriously it's true, it happened. It was about her dad and, even though I would never tell her this without using my blog as a vehicle, she is an amazing story teller. Tell me you're not entertained by her posts, do it. (Aside - We don't conspire to mention each other in our blogs as a way of cross promotion. Even if she wasn't my friend I would love every post. There aren't many blogs I can say that about. Haters be hatin'. You know who you are. Mom.) As I was reading it I found myself wondering about my own dad and our relationship. Did someone peel an onion in here? Is it just raining on my face? I'm good.

There are a lot of kids in this country whose parents are never around. It's why when you go to little league games, recitals, or dance practice that the rooms aren't full of people. My dad was never like that. He was there for everything. If he ever wasn't there for a baseball game it was because my brother was playing one at the same time so my mom and him would split. He would drive me to practices and watch the whole thing. He was always there for support. He would talk about everything. If I got in trouble he was there to help, lecture, and forgive.

And I hated it.

When you're a kid you don't want your parents there all the time. I always thought it was cool when my friends parents weren't around. Why did my dad have to ALWAYS be there? You're cramping my style old man. I just wanted to be left alone. When he became president of the little league I wanted to die. Now he always there too. At home and at my games. I really resented my dad growing up and was looking forward to college and just getting away.

You see my dad isn't a big talker. When I call him he usually starts and ends sentences with "good" or "thats good son." If something bad happens its always "Just remember what I told you." Ever since I've moved to LA I don't talk to my dad much at all. Maybe once a month. MAYBE. When we do talk the conversations are never more than 5 minutes long. I've seen him 4 times in the 4 years I've lived in LA. In essence, I've gone from talking to my dad all day every day for the first 18 years of my life to rarely talking to him at all.

And it makes me sad.

I never realized how lucky I was growing up. While some kids never had their dad around, mine was always there. All the values I had I got from him. If you're on time you're late. Work hard. Respect your elders and call them Mr. and Mrs. He instilled that in me so long ago that I called my high school baseball coach Mister Smith all the time, not coach, and not even when he told me to call him Tom. I didn't realize that the way I acted was from hanging out with him all the time. It hit me about 6 months ago how little we talk. I try to call him more often, but again since nothing is being said its hard to go on for that long.

As we sat at brunch this morning, I looked around and saw fathers and sons eating breakfast. Alone. Just them. This one table had a father and son of about 14 sharing a milkshake and the kid was so excited to be there with his dad. You could just tell that the dad was so proud to be there with his son. He was beaming and affectionate as they laughed and ate together. While I looked around I could hear two of my friends, who are sisters, complaining about what time they had to eat at their parents place for a Fathers Day dinner. They've never been more than 10 miles away from their parents through college and now work. They can see their dad every day so today was no different to them. I shook my head.

They were lucky. They could see their dad. I know I made the decision to move out here when I could have moved to New York City to stay close. In the end it is my decision about the distance. I don't regret moving to LA, but I do regret losing my bond with my father. I won't lie. I looked around the diner and got a little choked up and had to leave the table for a minute. I actually missed my father.

As soon as I got in my car to drive home I called him up to wish him a Happy Fathers Day. He thanked me and asked me if I wanted to play golf with him when I come home in two weeks. I couldn't stop smiling. I jumped at the chance so we could spend some time together. Again the conversation wasn't as long as I had hoped, but we are going to hang out. As I get older I realize that my relationship with my father should be getting better. Not worse. I'm lucky to still have him around. I shouldn't be wasting days, weeks, and years ruining our relationship. Time is a fickle bitch. You never know when it runs out. He's who made me who I am today. He's a good man. I can now look back on that and say it with pride.

As I was writing this I got a little emotional again. He's my dad. And for the first time in a long time I'm damn glad he is.