Remembering, while I can (part 1)

I guess April 15 will always loom vividly and large in my memory. I keep waiting for the year when it will pass without turbulence. I also dread the day the significance wanes enough to allow that date to be unnoticed. Each year, as the day grows nigh, I begin to recall stories from my past. Some make me smile, while others remind me of regret and sorrow. Each recurrent memory brings additional clarity for my life.

I have to back up a little.

My mother called me one morning in early February of 1980. Odd because my dad was usually the one who called. I don't remember her words, just that dad had been diagnosed with a lung tumor that would require surgery and the prognosis for that potential surgery and his recovery was not good. I could tell that she had told me all she knew. I did not ask for more.

She encouraged me to come and see him ... soon. I remember the urgency in her voice. For the first time in my life I realized my father was a mere mortal. That one day I would lose him. It hit me like a brick. I tried to "be a man about it" and suck it up, but I had no context on which to lean for this experience. I began to make plans to go see my dad. It started with a phone call to him later that same day. I often called my dad. Now, I realize how often I was asking for something when I called. This time I asked that we just get together and hang out, do whatever he wanted. "Heck, why don't we go fishing". I had NEVER said those words. I hated fishing. Still do. 

Early February in north Arkansas is not typically ideal fishing weather. My dad saw through my words, giggled under his breath and said sure. Also, note that if its not fishing weather, its most likely not motorcycle weather, either. But off I went on a sub-30° Saturday morning on a 100 mile ride. I remember seeing thick frost on the car's windshield as I backed my bike out of the carport. The ride was brutally cold. At one point I stopped at a country store in  Strawberry, Arkansas to stand next to a potbelly stove to encourage my blood to move again. The flannel and overall crowd at the store was amused at my idiocy. I got to my family home about 8:30 a.m. to find my dad ready to talk me out of my fishing plan, due to the weather. But for all the times he had asked me, and I had turned him down, I felt a deep yearning and obligation to be on the water with my dad on this day. After a brief discussion we loaded the car, pulling the familiar red and white 14 ft Alumicraft boat (dad had customized the boat over the years with many personalized featured) and we headed off for a nearby lake (Lake Hogue, south of Jonesboro and near Wiener, Arkansas) with the frigid winter wind howling. Dad asked me to drive. The two tone blue cadillac hummed down the road in style. Conversation was sparse, but extremely cordial. I think we were both nervous about today meant for us.

At the lake, dad didn't have to ask me to jump out and ready the boat for launching. Not this time, anyway. I braved the cold and helped nurture the boat into the choppy water. Neither did he criticize of try to improve upon my ineptitude. Shortly, we were on the water. Bundled up like eskimos we tied off to a big tree and through a line into the fog resting atop the water. Plop. Now, only the sound of the wind was breaking the silence. We made several attempts to make small talk. It wasn't working. My dad offered more than once to head back to the shelter of the shore and the heater in the car. I was saddened and even a bit angry that my ill-fated plans were disintegrating before my watering eyes. I gave in. My dad chuckled (quietly and respectfully) as we headed back across the waves to the shore. The ride home was filled with laughter punctuated with silence. Several times I apologized for the foolishness of my winter fishing expedition idea. I also found places to interject apologies for some of my greater sins and disrespect from my adolescence. He was more than gracious to receive my confessions and apologies. I thanked him for going with me. He thanked me for asking. We laughed about the weather. I felt childish and innocent. I welcomed the comfort of my father's acceptance. It had been a long time since I had allowed myself to experience his warmth. Once we were home I quickly began to transition for the cold and lonely ride home on the bike. 

While the chill in the air numbed my toes on the way home, the ride proved to be cathartic. I longed for the warmth of my home and my father. The scream and chatter of the two-stroke engine revving up and down provided an uninterrupted backdrop for my thoughts as I negotiated the hills and corners of rural Arkansas. I remember nothing of the ride home except a patch of ice encountered in a shaded spot as I crested a knoll. I had thirty more days before the surgery would take place. The silence of somber consideration would be my companion till then. (more tomorrow)