I was 14 going on 15 the summer my dad took my brother and I to Oregon and Washington to visit his aunts and uncles. The summer of 1990, I visited Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Hood, and the Goondocks on the Oregon coast. My dad was 43, a year younger than I am now. He seemed like so much more of an adult than I am, like he had it all figured out. Looking at this pictures now, I still see someone who seems older, wiser, more grounded. Maybe he was just better at faking it. Maybe it’s the mustache.
I came down to visit him today following the funeral of his brother-in-law. I thought the kids would be a good distraction and I could help out. I have taken out the trash, gone to the grocery store, changed a doorknob assembly, and hugged my dad while he tried not to cry. I have also bristled and cringed, cursed under my breath and aloud, and spent some time hiding out in the bathroom. In short, I became 15 again, like I always do when I visit.
If my plans work out, I will be living in Atlanta in a few months, just an hour and a half from him and my step-mom. I’d like to think I’ll be closer to help out, but I get so anxious thinking about how much I regress when I’m around him. How my patience just disappears, only to be replaced by quiet insolence.
How does a person become the man his father inspires him to be when being around his father turns him into a child? #fbf #volcano #goonies #fatherhood
