To Da

It's father's day, and I want to dedicate a post to my Da (an Irish term for dad that we have started using to celebrate our Scot-Irish roots).  I appreciate him every day for the things that he has done for both me and my family in general.  He had to figure out how to be a Da on his own, with his dad and my grandfather leaving when he was young.  Well, he figured it out, to say the least.  His honor, work ethic, and loyalty move mountains.  I hope that I can carry those virtues forward in the way that he does.  He was the man to teach me the willpower necessary to win track races, succeed in school, and tackle like a son of bitch on the soccer pitch.  He taught me the importance of knowing your limitations, even if I still haven't learned all there is to know about that one.

He became an entrepreneur, starting a computer business in 1983.  1983!  And it still exists.  Imagine the changes that have occurred in computing in those 32 years.  He had the guts and drive and know how to make it through all of those technological revolutions.  He is here to tell the tale.  He calls himself a computer plumber, but he is visionary.  No, he's not a billionaire, but he is probably too good of a man to be the one to become a billionaire, and that's just fine by me.  He is my Da, and he is an honorable man, a man I am proud to call my father on father's day.

He told me a story about when he was finishing up high school and he told his mom that he was not sure if he loved his dad or not.  She recommended he go see him and figure that out.  He did that and more.  On his way to college he met up with his dad, and they began to build bonds that lasted until my Pa's (what I called my grandpa) death to multiple myeloma when I was just beginning high school.  On that trip to see his dad, my Da introduced Pa to Napolean Hill's book Think and Grow Rich, and Pa introduced Da to Ayn Rand.  They were kindred spirits in the can-do attitude, that our choices mattered, and that success mattered only if it could be done honorably.  Neither ever became ridiculously wealthy, and they have both fought with their demons as all of us do, but their love for each other grew rich over the decades.  They shared their lives and ideas with each other, and the wisdom gained from such interactions continue to be passed down the generations.  That my dad learned to forgive and love his father who had left him is yet another virtue that I hope I can attain in my own life.

By the time of his passing, I was just old enough to have a couple conversations with Pa before he left us that convinced me he had some wisdom in him, and he shared what he could before it was too late.  He had a new wife by then, and the off-kilter family that these two sides encompassed still keep in touch to this day.  One of those cousins just got married and has recently become a father himself, and we were (almost) all there to see it and celebrate as family.  Whether siblings, half-siblings, step siblings, cousins by blood or by tribe, we all love each other and it was the souls of Pa and Da who played a central role in the creation of those bonds.

When Pa passed, he gave the honor of willing his library of books to me.  It is an honor and burden that I continue to carry.  He chose me to be the passer of knowledge down the generations.  I don't take that lightly.  With his books, my Da's books, and my own, we have collected quite a collection.  It is a dream of mine to create a library one day where these books will reside for which all can learn.  With the information and digital revolutions, physical books are becoming more and more obsolete, so I will have to get creative in defining just what a library will be for humanity when everything can be goggled in seconds.  Pa had the confidence that I could do it.  I will make him proud, come hell or high water.

After Pa died, Da and I drove to Albuquerque where he'd lived to pick up his books and bring them back to Tucson where we both lived.  On the drive back we hit the most powerful lightning storm I have ever seen.  I wrote a poem about it, and on father's day, I dedicate this poem to Da, and all the Da's who got us here:

Two Charged Particle Staring At Their Own Mortality

Pa left his used-up body smiling in a recliner chair,
in his cigarette living room.  I have wondered since
if voices calling him to leave had given him a secret.

Dad and I drove through the dry southwest desert
to collect Pa's books he left for me, where I thought
the secret might be hiding on a faded page, like an afterthought.

The rubber wheels of our faded silver minivan rolled
down the freeway like Bob Dylan caught in a moment
of word association.  The rain asked to witness a sunny day.

We talked of girls and genes and peak experiences,
the timing of events and the effect it had on physics.
We marveled at the rolling clouds waking to our dreams.

We smiled at the absurdity of rule-making bureaucrats,
and hoped that some good pot might loosen them up a bit.
Death seemed to smile at the inherent relevancy of the subject.

The Stones convinced us that sympathy existed
even for the devil, and that the hard workin' people
deserved a toast.  I announced that their fervent blues

were tempting the approaching storm to show us
its true power.  Dad smiled, and told me Pa might have agreed
in a different time.  The secret was certainly laughing now.

On the homestretch, the clouds were swallowed whole
by the lingering light.  Jazz and rock and roll were electric
in the air, Dad and I collided like two charged particles

staring at their own mortality, smiling.  I guess
it was only inevitable that the lightning storm came next.
The bolts struck close, with frightening repetition.  Beautiful.

Pa oversaw the lightning show with glee and a trickster attitude
that went back to his youth, which he never could quite silence.
He was never one for secrets or the conservation of energy.