My Father

Water is a very strange paradox.

When water is inside you – it gives you life. When you are inside water it can take your life just as quickly.

My family has always gone to a beautiful lake in upstate New York, even generations before I was a glimmer in my father’s eye. My dad and I used to swim to across the lake when we were at this lake, much to the chagrin of my mother who insisted that it wasn’t safe and was too far for me.

My dad knew I could do it. So while my mom paddled alongside us in a boat, my dad took long strokes and swift kicks, pausing as often as I needed to.

The rocks we rested at and explored still stand steady in the lake. The crystal, clean, chilled lake water still engulfs the pure scenery. The sun shines brightly over the breathtaking gift Mother Nature gave us, just as strong as it ever has.

The part that is gone is my father. Not that he has passed away, don’t get me wrong. He is still very much alive and in love with my mother as he has been for twenty six years. He is still a wonderful father and husband.

His heart is much slower, his knees much weaker, and the laugh lines from those very moments now define his eyes. His life energy has diminished over a lifetime of two rambunctious and smart-assed children and a home to provide for.

As I thought about many child hood places the only common factor I could come up with was my father. He was the one who took breezy fall afternoons to push us on the merry go round at the park. He was the one who built the playhouse and moved it inside when it got too cold. He is the one who taught me theme songs to shows generations before me on trips back to the grocery store. He is the one who said silly rhymes while he pushed me on the swings, played piano while I tried to conquer third grade math, and baked cookies that would lie on dish towels to cool. He was  the one who taught me how to drive on the high way and held my hand as I cried on my first roller coaster in Disney world. He was the one sitting next to my mother at 38 different opening nights over 12 years.

His life energy may have aged with him. That memories and the people who occupy them may age but the fact that I can still carry them with me are more important.