Rolling Rock

My Dad and I were at the house doing home repairs and cleaning everything up.  His attitude caused me to furrow my brow several times today.  He is like many fathers; gruff at times, but sincere and fair.  Anyway, he was being unusually nice as we worked.  I raked the leaves and he said: “Wow, you really got those up nice.”  I took out the bike to fix its brakes and he offered to help once he finished sanding down the backyard fence.  He told me to mix the cream-colored paint so he could cover up the unattractive water sealant lining the house…but hesitated and added: “But do what you were gonna do first, if you were busy.”  I wasn’t busy; I’d devoted to day to helping him out since I knew he leaves back to Michigan tomorrow.  It hadn’t occurred to me, though, that combined with my upcoming travel it may be a long time before I see him again.  It’s nothing new, because my Dad has been making that end-of-summer trip back to the Midwest since 1992 and I’m 27 now instead of 11; it’s a familiar routine.  But something is different this time around and, obviously, my Dad realized that.  Is it that, at last, I’m paying for things using my own money?  Or that this time, my departure is for employment and self-enrichment instead of for school?  Or maybe just because I’ll be farther away than ever before.  Whatever the reason, seeing him become such a softie even made me a bit sad today.

Even as a kid, though, I was always concerned about my Dad living out there by himself.  How does a person get by on phone calls and holiday visits for over fifteen years?  Frankly, I find it amazing how much influence my Dad has had on me given that he lived halfway across the country the entire time I was in junior high and high school.  It’s wasn’t bad, just awkward to explain and certainly better than the alternative many people face…having no Dad at all.  He’s had to go to work and suffer through those Michigan winters and entertain himself all in that same old University apartment; his family almost couldn’t help but drift away during that time.  So, while he’s concerned about me, he needn’t be concerned for I’m very much an emotional rock.  But perhaps I shouldn’t be concerned, either, because I must have gotten it from somewhere…and given all that’s happened over the past 15 years, he must be a rock, too.