Fly...Fly...Fly Away Home

(Father's Day is next Sunday. That got me thinking about a time in the future when my children, one after the other, will leave the nest)


They linger in front of their house next to her car. For the fiftieth time the Father reminds her not to drive more than 300 miles a day, take plenty of rest stops, don't pick up any hitchhikers, and to call them every night until she got to her destination. The daughter looks tenderly into his eyes, smiles at him lovingly, hugs him one last time, and settles into the driver's seat.

It seems to the Father such a short time ago when he and her mother went to Wuhan, China to bring her home to live with them. She was a beautiful, bright, sparkly infant, and that has not changed through the years. Seventeen years went by in a blur. Three months ago she graduated from high school, today she sets out on a solo cross country trip to attend college on the East Coast.

Peeking out the back window of her car is her beloved teddy bear, Bamboo. It was given to her by a family friend when she was just a year old and still living in their first home in the Concordia neighborhood. Ignored and dismissed for the first few months, but inexplicably one day, he was given a gender and a name, and became the Chosen One of her many toys. Through the years Bamboo has been her constant companion and confidant. He has soaked up an ocean of tears and rejoiced in countless breathless hugs as he shared the peaks and valleys of her childhood and teenage years. More than a few times, the tears were brought on by the invariable conflicts that occur between a father and his daughter. At those times, he was the outsider, standing on the other side of her bedroom door while she buried her tear stained face into her Bamboo. He had been envious of the bear then and of the bear's total access to his precious daughter. He knew it was silly to be jealous of an inanimate object, but he couldn't help it. And now, Bamboo is again going to be with her while he will be even further away.

The Father allows himself a smile when he notices that Bamboo and he have aged similarly through the years. The bear's once luxurious dark brown fur is now a dirt colored, matted mess. Gravity and wear have taken a toll as well. The full stuffing that once gave him form is now compressed and have settled into his mid section, giving him a pear shaped body with a hollow chest and a lumpy stomach. But, one thing that has not changed are the bear's eyes. They are still warm and accepting. For once, the Father is glad that she is taking her bear. Bamboo will be a tangible tie to her childhood when she's far away from her family and friends. The bear will be able to comfort her during those trying times in a strange city when the Father couldn't.

A short tap of the car horn, followed by her bare waving arm brought him back to the present.  A few seconds later, a right turn, and she was gone. The Father turns to his wife, she hugs him tight, the dam breaks, and the tears flow freely.

Come Out, Come Out, Where Ever You Are....

My kids' piano recital was postponed to a later date that will not work for us. On a whim, I suggested to Jane that we should have a private recital at our house instead. To keep it small, I was thinking of just inviting my sister Ling, her husband, and the Wheelers with their young daughter, Clara. But, by the morning of the gathering, my wife and children have expanded the guest list, which happens to also exponentially expanded my stress level. You see, to say that I am not good at social events is an understatement.  It is very painful for me to mingle. When you add the responsibility of hosting, my heart rate goes up, I hyperventilate, and my skin gets clammy.

Eighteen years ago, I hosted a New Year's Eve gathering at my house. It was an excruciating wait until midnight. As soon as the clock struck twelve, and after my guests got to bang on a few pots and pans, I, not so subtlety, ushered them to their cars. I think they were all gone by five after twelve.  Another time, I had some family and co-workers over for a Christmas event. We pretty much sat around in a circle, munched on peanuts, and stared at each other. Judging by the amount of social interactions taking place at the time, an outsider looking on could easily have mistaken us for a 12 step group, and not an effective one at that. It still haunts me years later, I have nightmares.

I am very much an introvert. Left to my own devices, I could easily recluse myself from any human contact and hibernate for an entire weekend. That was frequently the case before I was married. It was not necessary good for me, but, when it comes to socialization, it is my natural level of stasis.

I don't want that for my children. I want them to learn to socialize, to have friends, and to fill their weekends with fun and interesting people. So, for their sake, I am going to drain this glass of social lubricant, today it's Merlot, push myself away from this keyboard, and mingle.....

Alphabet Man

The "Oregonian", Portland's daily, runs an occasional column in the Living/Styles section titled "My Workout", which features compulsive Portlanders touting their obsessive diet and exercise regiments. Several years ago the column featured a "V" shaped, broad shoulders and tapered waist, 50 year old man navigating a foaming river, solo, in a canoe.  In the column, this man flaunted that he worked out at least 2 hours a day, never touched red meat or alcohol, ate only organic produce, and religiously took a daily Omega-3 fish oil supplement. His dietary indulgences were a weekly small non-fat latte, and on "special occasions", half a bar of dark chocolate.

I was about 46 years old at the time, I remember showing the picture of "V" man to my wife, and telling her that I want to have a body like that when I am 50. I am now 54 and my upper body does not remotely resemble that coveted letter. On my best days, in forgiving lighting, standing in front of my favorite mirror, and at just the right angle, I could almost convince myself that I could be a "U" man.

Planning ahead to when I turn 60, I think I am going to aim more towards the front of the alphabet.......