For the Dad I wish I’d Known

For as long as I can remember my Dad has been my hero.  One of my earliest memories is of my Dad and I driving to our favorite fishing spot, him looking at me and asking “are we best buds?” and me saying enthusiastically “yes!”.  I caught my first fish in the “mud hole” that day.  I remember the line going taught and setting the hook just as he had taught me. Instead of simply reeling it in I began running backwards and pulling that poor fish through 6 feet of mud before Dad stopped me.  He laughed for a long time about that.  It is one of my clearest memories of childhood.

Shortly before my 15^th birthday we drove to a used car lot not far from where I live with my family now.  There was a car there that he wanted me to see.  I had no idea what a Ford Mustang was until that day.  I sat in the passenger seat of a 1968 blue mustang as dad test drove it. It had a straight 6  200 with a 3 speed and an AC unit that would barely work.  It shook a bit at 65 miles per hour.  I had no idea that car would give me some of the best one on one time with him.  In the coming months I would learn more than I could imagine about clutch’s, pressure pads, alternators, voltage meters, alignment, and everything that a 60’s model car could teach you. I heard stories about he and my mom,  his experiences growing up in Corpus Christi, and life in general.  All the while listening to classic rock on the "boom box".  We spent hours with each other and that car. While I cherish every one of those memories now,  all I could think about as we drove it off the lot that day, Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride” blasting through the cassette deck, was about how it needed a proper CD player and how girls were finally going to notice me.

I wish I would have never sold that car.

Throughout the next few years we would have our fights, our laughs, and our moments of father and son bonding.  He would support me through my dumb decisions.  I would think that he was silly for worrying.  That Mustang gave me the freedom to go, and go I did.  Dad and I had would have all the time in the world later. He and Mom were supportive of me and I could tell how rare that kind of trust was. On the night I graduated High School he was so proud.  I can still see it in his eyes when I think about it.  But there was no time to waste, college was waiving at me from the horizon.  With it a wider world, more time with friends, and less time for mom and dad.

In the Book of Mormon there is a recording of a relationship between a father and a son that I have always found heartwarming.  Nephi is a young man, who's brothers do not believe much of what he says or does.  His father, however, shows time and time again how much he trusts and admires his son.  While I do not have brothers, or siblings for that matter, I have always related to this feeling of trust from a father to a son.  I felt that from my dad. I hope that one day my children feel it from me.

On September 19^th 1998, just a few months after graduation, I lost out on getting to know better the greatest man I ever knew.  I’m not sure why this month, this year, has made me think about it more.  Perhaps it’s because I am approaching an age where I will have less years of being with him than being without him. I have found myself randomly visiting spots that we would frequent.  I happened to be passing by our lake place at the beginning of the month and stopped to check it out.  While out working I found myself parked at the business he had started before he died.  The receptionist is the only one that Is still there from that time, but the minute she saw me she gave me a big hug and talked to me for a long time about the past.  It was good to reminisce.  It is always nice to hear about him through the filter of someone else’s experience with him.  There has never been a bad story in the bunch.

There are times when I am saddened that I did not get to know my Dad in the adult years of my life.  I have found that many of his insights into my dumb teenage decisions were true.  It would have been nice to tell him he was right.  I think he would have loved to hear it. I would have liked to have been a man at the same time he was a man.  To ask him, am I doing it right? Do I represent our family well? I would have liked to have gotten to know him better.  I am grateful for the knowledge that I have that I will see him again.  That, at least, gives me hope when I feel that I have missed out on the experience of having him around to see his grandchildren.

There are few promises for our mortality. For the most part we do not get to pick how or when we are done here.  I appreciate the short amount of time I had.  I long for the Father I wish I could have known.  I feel so much like him at times, and like I have so much more to learn at others. 

How grateful I am that such a wonderful man was my Dad.  I’m not sure if those who have passed have the opportunity to read the things we write.  I would imagine that Wi-Fi in the afterlife never crashes, unless it’s AT&T. But if on the off chance that this message reaches past the 0’s and 1’s of the internet I hope that he knows of the gratitude I feel for him. For the great example of husband and father he was. That his life left a great impression on me and that I look forward to that happy and glorious reunion that will provide me a way to know him better.

I love you dad.

TJ

Why My Imperfect Marriage is Better Than a Disney Love Story

As a young boy I recall watching the Disney cartoon Sleeping Beauty.  In my perception, at the time, the story is that of a young woman that finds herself, after some unfortunate circumstances, in need of a prince to rescue her. I remember the prince having to fight his way through thorny vines just to get to the young woman who was helpless to save herself. In my childhood I remember thinking that this must be the way to impress a woman!  You have to save them, helpless as they are.  By the time I had matured into a teenager I realized that was not the case. Still, there remained an impulse, perhaps a residue of some of those “helpless maiden- prince on a trusty steed” movie messages In my mind that I still felt in some small way that I needed to “save” my future princess.  To be a man, busting down doors and cutting my way through thickets to save her. (Metaphorically speaking of course, I’m somewhat small in stature and the door would probably not bust down easily.  I’m also not a great gardener.)

 That feeling vanished quickly after being married.  If you’ve met my wife you know she is not the kind to lay around waiting on someone to swoop in and save her. 

That said, I believe that I am lucky enough to have my own type of fairy tale marriage.

Our fairy tale marriage is not the same kind that Disney would portray. We have fought on many occasions, and we’ve had a lot of great times too.  There are still nights that we stay up late talking about everything.  I can truly say that she is my best friend. We have seen each other at our worst and our best.  My jokes, more often than not, have proved to be annoying to her and misplaced at times. (She clearly doesn’t understand good humor.. I’m Hilarious!)  We have served together at home and church, helped each other on lessons and talks, and fought over the meaning of certain scriptures only to realize that we were both saying the same thing in a different way. Our journey has been amazing at times, hard at others, and sometimes just OK.  She has been there at my side when I’ve lost my job and I’ve been the shoulder she needs to cry on when devastating family matters weigh her down. We have always tried our best, and failed sometimes, to be there for each other.  We have been fortunate enough to have three beautiful children who are amazing, even though we can attest to being sub-par parents a great deal of the time.

Our fairy tale marriage has not yet included me riding on the back of a white horse (The only time I did as a kid I fell off), ready to pick apart a thicket with my bare hands.  (Although I still harbor a hope that I can talk her into letting me buy a classic mustang like I had in my youth, what middle age man doesn’t need a classic sports car with a lot of horsepower!?!)  In short,  I do not see my wife as a helpless person who needs me to save her.  Our fairy tale is the kind where both of us are elbow deep in the thicket. Hands and arms scratched, scarred, and bruised, working together to get to where we both want to be and finding joy in serving each other towards a common goal. I love her, she loves me. I do not listen to her at times which really makes her mad and I guarantee she’s made me upset more than once. But she is still the most beautiful woman in the room to me.  She steals my heart every day.  I don’t fall in love with her every day, but I’ve stayed in love with who she has become, and who we are together. We are both different people than what we were when we said yes  13 years ago today.  In Steven Sondheims play “Into the Woods” the Baker and his wife have this exchange -

“We’ve changed. We’re Strangers. I’m meeting you in the woods.  Who minds, What Dangers? I know we’ll get past the woods.  And once we’re past  Let’s hope the changes last….”

I love who she has become, I hope she likes who I am now as well. I love who we are together. It’s been 13 wonderful, crazy years.  I look forward to many, many more.  Happy anniversary Tiff! Lucky # 13!! 

Full Disclosure - Tiffany will no doubt edit my grammar mistakes on this post in short order.  She's better with that, and I'm OK with it ;) 

Twenty Six Point Two

Twenty Six Point two definitely seems longer when spelled out.  It’s less daunting to write it numerically, 26.2.  Either way you put it down, that’s how many miles I’m about to run. 

Shortly after finishing third in my age group at our local yearly half marathon, I decided it was time to push myself a little more. On a runner’s high about finishing a good race, feeling confident in my accomplishment, and with encouragement from my wife, I decided to go all in.  This would be the year that I would complete a full marathon.  I had an idea of what it would take, but never realized the full scope of the commitment until after I started looking at running plans.  In my haste, I paid for the race before I saw what the plan looked like.  Had I known, I might have chosen a different route.  Something a tad easier perhaps - like a 400 meter dash?

For those who have never thought about being crazy enough to attempt to run such a long distance, let me be very clear.  The training is pretty much all you have time for in the months leading up to the marathon.  It consumes your diet, your mornings, and your evenings.  In the short 3 months that I started training for the full marathon after doing the half in mid-march I’ve logged well over 400 miles of running.  I’ve been chased by dogs, honked at by cars, attacked by mosquitoes, waved at by other runners, and propositioned by “ladies of the night” that were out for their morning stroll.  I’ve run on roads, trails, dirt tracks, treadmills, in parks, on streets, and (on my longest training run) between my home town and my current town even getting lost a time or two along the way. Through rain, sleet, humidity, blazing sun, ice and snow I’ve trained for my run while traveling through Texas, Louisiana, New Mexico, Oklahoma, and Utah.  Along the way every member of our family has joined me at one time or another, including the family dog.  It’s been tough, but fun, and has proved to be an opportunity to find out more about myself in the process.  While I have seldom enjoyed it during the run (I rarely get a runners high but tend to have what I call the Runners swears), I have always been able to look back and appreciate the journey.    I have wondered if I would get a life lesson from all of this.  I thought it would come from the marathon itself.  Instead, as I finished another training run tonight, I had a different epiphany.   I wondered if I’ve taken enough time to really enjoy the training.  I’m not sure if I fully appreciate how much I’ve had to push myself to be in shape enough to run the full 26.2 miles. It seems rather interesting that I would have to put in over 400 miles in such a short time to have enough muscle, strength, and stamina to last the entire race.  That’s just the physical aspect, not to mention the mental endurance that will be needed! Still, even with all the training and preparation, there are few guarantees.  Who knows how the actual race will go this Saturday.  Even with all of that prep, there could still be some pitfalls and trials along the way. 

During those thoughts, as if on cue from some ever present corner of my brain, images of my three beautiful children and my amazing spouse materialized in my mind’s eye.

I started wondering if I have been a good enough trainer for our children. I wondered if I’m a good enough co-trainer with my wife.  After all, are we not trying to help them learn the skills that they will need once they hit their own marathons? Are we giving them the right nutrients to help them persevere through the long and treacherous miles that lay ahead? Am I finding joy in the opportunity to teach them what I’ve learned? Am I slowing down to “run” at my wife’s pace, or speeding up to catch up to her? Are we keeping pace with each other?  All of these thoughts came in a flurry as I pounded through the miles tonight.  I wondered what it will be like when I walk with them to the starting line and watch nervously as they take off on their own.  I made a vow to cheer them on unconditionally once they get there.  I realized that this time to train is short and I better become a better coach or else they may not be fully prepared when race day comes.  I need to learn to work together better with my wife; after all we are coaching equally for the same team.  I have a hope that when they set off on their own and run toward their futures that they will fully understand that their race will not be like any other.  They will have moments of great triumph, followed by moments of pain and uncertainty.  Sometimes they will have to slow down and walk, or sit, because that happens.  That it’s ok to fail, as long as you get back up and go again.  That if they come in first, or last, or in between my love for them will not change. 

If they stumble and fall, it’s ok.  It’s just a scratch or a bruise.  Just keep moving. Keep running up the hill, on the other side it’s a relieving descent for a few miles.

It may be silly to take so much from such an unimportant thing.  Yet I find that as I look back, the training went by way too fast.  All of the miles are done and the marathon is before me. I feel prepared, whatever that means.  My legs are stronger than ever, but what made them that way is now just a memory. 

So, here’s to the training, and the trainers who are struggling to get it right. The relief will come when we are all standing at the finish line together in an embrace and jubilee that comes from leaving it all on the road.

Deep breaths - we’ve got this.

-TJ