We are all unique beings, but we can’t help but be shaped by those in our lives.
Lately, I’ve been having the urge to go and just get lost. The call to travel with no real destination in mind, living moment to moment in quiet solitude, is powerful. I fantasize not of the final resting spot, but of how I will make my way there. I just want to lose touch, to not carry the burden of responsibility, to fall completely off the grid and answer to no one.
I don’t have to wonder where these desires come from. My 74 year old dad and I sat outside across the street from the beach in Malibu this morning. He ate a pastry and drank coffee. I just rested in his company. During our brief conversation, I was reminded of who I am and why I’m drawn to my passions. Without his example as a child, I wouldn’t be writing this blog. That’s but a single layer.
My dad told me of his hours spent hitchhiking, working day jobs for food, living moment to moment. “You want to be spontaneous,” he said.
Exactly. If I choose left, I go left. I don’t tell anyone, I just go. Of course, I can’t do that right now. I have multiple careers, but much more importantly, I have two young men. I cherish them and recognize that this is a vital time in their development. I stay put, and I’m content with that arrangement.
Nevertheless, I still love that aforementioned fantasy and passionately want it to exist when the time comes that I’m able act on it. My dad didn’t wait for the right time. He went when I was a kid. He says my mom wanted him to check in from time so he was chained to a nearby payphone to a degree. She argues he’d just up and disappear for a while whereas he says he’d update her as to his whereabouts.
He told me of his days hopping trains. “I’d hop in an open car and just get off whenever.”
Watching him, he bounced from topic to topic as he shared his stories, which smoothly explained my love of train tracks. As a player in the minor leagues on long bus rides across the south, I’d gaze at the wooden versions out the window and long to follow them into the woods. If the tracks cross a bridge, I can barely contain myself. I see deep, explosive beauty in the mystery of their paths.
I’ve always been attracted to the works of Rudyard Kipling. My 100 year old grandfather, his father, would read pops poetry when he was a child. My dad lights up as he muses on Robert Louis Stevenson.
My dad asked me as he sipped his coffee, “What kind of apple is your favorite?”
I’m awed. All this time, I’ve claimed ownership of that question.
One of my earliest memories of my father is of him biting off a piece of apple, handing it to me, and raving about the crispness and tartness. Today I notice history repeating itself. As I find myself smiling, singing the praises of a bell pepper to my twelve year old and he looks at me funny, I think to myself, “You’ll be doing the same thing with your son, trust me.”
Sitting with my father and taking stock of who he is and was, I discover I understand myself better. He made everything so romantic; now, I am a reflection of that romance. All of my deep desires, the things that I’m touched by, the elements of life I find breathtakingly beautiful are pieces of him. My deep love of music? He’s a pianist. My curiosity about where roads lead? He digs maps. My immersion in the study of healthy foods? He stocked our home with whole wheat bread decades before it was cool.
On the surface, these individual encounters are simply about the subject matter. A deeper exploration, throughout the course of a childhood, reveals that they are truly the vehicles for connection. My father articulated his love for me often, but more importantly, expressed that care by pointing out the elegance in nature and life.
When I was a young boy, my dad and I were on a road trip to the Sierra Nevada Mountains late at night. He pulled the car over, we got out, and he pointed up. The sky was pitch black and the bright contrasting stars took my breath away.
Here’s how he remembers it:
We were on highway 395 en route to Tahoe-about a 10 hour drive-it was in the middle of nowhere, middle of the night and we stopped and I turned out the car lights and woke you up. We spent maybe 3 minutes looking at the sky, standing outside the car. There was no light at all anywhere, only a deep blanket of stars. No moon. Then we got back in the car & you fell asleep. We were still driving when the sun came up. You awoke. Driving up a long hill, we saw a cow off to the side of the road, dead, on its back, feet sticking in the air. We just kept going. I’m guessing you were around 6 or 7, it was the 2 of us, and I don’t remember what the trip was for.
He may not remember the impetus for the trip, but, like it was for me, the sensory emprise was unforgettable.
My young men will tell you about a drive we took in a camper to Monterey from Southern California in which we watched the most spectacular sunrise. It’s a cherished memory for them just a few years later.
I’m not a carbon copy of my dad. My mother’s influence runs strong through my make-up. My love for violent 90s hip hop and strong appreciation for contact sports weren’t spawned from either of my pacifist parents, that’s for damn sure.
However, as I sit here on Father’s Day, I find myself grateful that I have a dad who was so expressive. He wasn’t perfect, but he oozed love. If I knew nothing else, I knew I was cherished. That knowledge allowed me to let my guard down and be molded.
Many men become alarmed when they recognize the parallel behavior between their fathers and their own. If, at the end of the day, I’m like my father, my boys will be the lucky ones.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I love you.
Happy Father’s Day to you and your dad! This is such a wonderful post and thanks for sharing these wonderful memories you had as a kid.
Thanks, Sarai. Much appreciated.
Happy Father’s Day, Gabe. That one broke my heart wide open. Beautiful ❤
Grateful, Susan. My love to Steve and your kiddos today.
Love the post, Gabe. I enjoy the unexpected, daily dose of reality that you deliver. Each day is an anxious surprise, as I patiently wait to see what the topic of the day is. From nutrition and fitness information to common sense daily living information, this website has it all.
The way you describe personal experiences, allows the reader to visualize what is being discussed. The way the reader replies with their own foresight and experiences allows for that visualization to continue. First class all the way.
Your boys will no doubt benefit from their upbringing and experiences, and with every mention of them, I can sense the true love and admiration that you have for them. That is what being a MAN is truly about. Not how much money a person makes and what their social status is, but the life that is offered to their children. Good, bad or indifferent, the chance for a child to enjoy such diverse experiences, are the building blocks of their lives. Allowing a child to make sensible choices and being their own individual, not a carbon copy of you, will enrich their lives beyond imagination.
I have tried to instill individuality into my own children. I know that each one of them came from the same genetic makeup, and have their similaries, I also encourage and accept their differences, as well. What sport they choose to play, how successful (or unsuccessful) they are academically, religious beliefs/disbeliefs, etc., I encourage them to do their best. While one may be better academically, another may show better success on the field, or one is the stubborn one that challenges the “rules”, I allow for them to be different individually. Their overall understanding is that they will be respectable children, so they will be respectable and respected, as adults.
I apologize for rambling on, but I wanted to express my appreciation for what you have done, continue to do, and the sacrifices you make to put your message out there, allowing the reader to make their own choices. You don’t force your message to the reader, you offer them advice and encourage common sense, free-spirited thinking. Happy Father’s Day to you and all the fathers enjoying this site. Thanks again Gabe.
Well damn, Nick. If you didn’t just make my Father’s Day with this comment. The kind words are incredibly meaningful. I write this blog with the intention of having it land the way it does with you, so the acknowledgment of such carries weight.
Happy Dad’s day to you, too. Your kids are lucky.
Take care, brother.
Kap
Feel free to keep in touch, I know I will, as I will continue to follow this site. I have also introduced my oldest son to it, as a way to challenge society’s “norms” and “think outside the box” with personal individuality. I am quite impressed with the whole foods and organic lifestyle and have encouraged my co-workers to open their minds to it.
Dig.
Great read Kap! Happy Fathers Day
Much love, Briggy.
There are only two blogs I read on a daily basis, never missing. Yours is one. Happy Father’s Day and keep up the good work!
Mary, so much gratitude.
Kap
Non pareil entry Gabe! I can’t wait to be a dad and endeavour to try and top that imprint you just shared with us!
What a compliment, Jonathan. Thank you for reading and chiming in.
IthWhat an amazing post love! It really, really touched me deep down. I don’t have my father anymore and I miss my best friend so much. I definitely inherited his passion and love for life. He raised a strong woman.
Your young men will grow to be good men with all the love they have in their lives. Everyone talks about how powerful a mother’s love is but this post shows just how important a father’s love is in making a real man.
Happy Father’s day to you and all the fathers out there!
I can tell he raised a strong woman. Kudos to him, and to you.
thanks so much for sharing such richness with us today gabe. given you as his reflective, i already like your father without having met him.
you’ve reminded me that the parallels between my father an myself are what i see as the better parts of my character. his loving, powerful influence was and is represented in so many of my life’s choices, big and small.
much of who he was is alive and well in me today, though his character was so robustly full that there’s plenty left for me to attempt to emulate in my quest for personal development.
terry brown was a product assurance guru in the aerospace industry here in southern californis, a bailiwick i followed him into (albeit for a only brief stint). the strive for flawless performance, operational perfection, is the daily goal of an aerospace quality engineer. after all, one malfunctioning nuclear missile can ruin your whole day.
we actually had a definition for perfection: it was “does the item meet the criteria of fitness for use for absolute completion of the mission?”.
i might suggest the mission of a father includes offering his truest, most passionate self to assist the forming of good men and women, passing on a piece of his internal, living spark in the process.
in that mission, it seems to me that your father was indeed perfect
…and you as well sir.
And by this feedback, I’m touched. I’m glad there are few malfunctioning nuclear missiles out there and equally pleased that folks as thoughtful as you are reading the blog.
Awesome article Gabe! Makes me think about my dad and how he has and will always influence my life. I’m lucky to have him around still and not a day goes by that I don’t cherish that. Reading this post just cements that you are as genuine and true as they come and your kids are lucky to have you. Big props to you… Hope you had a great Father’s day.
Big ups to you too, Scott. My Father’s Day lasts a few hours more. My boys will be in bed then. Until then, focused. I’m sure you get it if you have kids, but either way, enjoyed this correspondence. Thanks for the good vibes.