Father and Son

Sawyer and I at a park bench in Waterton Nat'l Park. Photo by Nadine

I am a father. It is not an easy path and not for the feint of heart. Being a father involves sacrifice, hardship, sleep deprivation, and most of all, patience. I have knowingly scratched the surface of becoming a parent as my son is only two, but already, I can see myself in his eyes and know all to well what lay in store for me not too far down the road. That's one of the few perks of always looking over your shoulder at your past; you remember things. You remember the screaming at your parents and the nasty things you'd say to hurt them emotionally due to not getting what you wanted. Seeing your mother cry because you said,"I hate you." Things like that stick with you. These were drops in the bucket compared to some of the other things I did. My son will be raised differently than I was, and in that I hope will come change in his behavior when his time comes to be refused getting what he wants. Not out of cruelty or malice, but out of responsibility and love.

My relationship with my father was, for many years, incredibly rocky. We fought tooth and nail even after I left home at the age of 16. We have both looked back and agreed that we jointly needed to grow and mature before we could get to where we are now, and although the fence has been mended, all the timber in the world will never make it new. These things don't hinder us mind you, they define us. The bumps and scratches are reminders of our past and cause for the odd sarcastic, well natured joke from time to time. You know what they say, if you can't laugh at yourself....

There was so much tension and anger in our home when I was younger. The majority was my doing. Dad and I were too much alike in many regards. Head strong and stubborn. I remember on the summer of my Grandfathers death and shortly before I left home, I was about to get into my car and go for a ride when my father stopped me. "Is your insurance paid up?"

I lied and said it was. He knew it and told me I wasn't going anywhere in that car. What I saw as my father just trying to control my life, was in fact and act to save himself and his family from any further monetary responsibility. If I had an accident and didn't have any insurance, my father would have to pay out of his pocket. He had only lost his business a year before and we were struggling to make ends meet as it was. But I didn't care. I left and sat in my car and tried to start it. Dad was one step ahead of me. He had already opened the hood on my car a while earlier and removed the spark wire from the coil to the distributor cap. I didn't know this at the time, all I knew was that he had done something to my car. I was so mad. I ran into the house and began cursing like a drunken sailor. It was the closest I've ever come to getting in fist fight with my father. I was so out of control. My mother tried to intervene to calm me down and I turned and yelled at her. The things I said were certainly not fit to be spoken to anyone, let alone your mother. A regret I still think about from time to time. I made her cry. Such a dumb kid. I can only shake my head now. Hind sight is twenty twenty.

It is those stories and worse that concern me. I can place fault to a degree on my earlier dysfunctional upbringing, but a part of it has to be simple born character traits. I can only hope that those are only a small part of his mentality. Hard to tell when your two.

A fantastic read if you have the chance.

Many years past till my father and I were friends. The only glue that bound us was my Grandmother. If I didn't have her as a guide, I have no doubt that we wouldn't be speaking today. However, we are, and we are very much father and son. In fact this summer, my father, a few of his friends and I will be traveling to the Bonneville Salt flats during speed week. We will be traveling together for the most part on motorbikes. I am hoping to emulate Robert Pirsig's "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance". I am planning on bringing some recording equipment and making a documentary. It should be fun and at the very least a great keepsake to watch years down the road when I am old and grey and full of sleep. If I am really lucky, then one day I will be able to repeat the trip with my son, perhaps we could start a tradition. Who knows. The future's a funny place.

I hope after all is said and done, that if nothing else, I can in part erase the mistakes of my past through my son by being a better father than I had (no disrespect Dad) and in turn he will become a better father than I was. Always a step ahead on the next time around.