For Dad

One of the first things that you learn in any physics class is that matter is neither created nor destroyed. They tell you that you could be made up of bits of dinosaur or stardust or wet soda cans, or that you could be made up of all three. Matter, like a wrinkled old witch in Boca, won’t ever go anywhere else. But what about the stuff you can’t see? We all have those nebulous bits: personality, memory, interests, habits, pet peeves. Where does all of that end up? Cathedrals have been constructed and countries razed in the name of answering that question, so you won’t find anything irrefutable here. The only thing I know for sure is that over the course of a lifetime, a person leaves traces of themselves on and with others. It’s the pieces of stories, skills, recipes, and random acts of kindness that burrow and grow within the people around them. The other thing I know for sure is that, as the years go by, I become more and more like my dad.

It was something that I half-heartedly resisted for a while, but as the seasons go by it becomes too obvious to ignore. Like him, I kayak and SCUBA and bike. Like him, I grow quiet when I get upset but effusive when I have to socialize. We walk slower than our more restless family members, feel emotional films harder than they do, and enjoy sitting in the quiet and watching the world turn. We have a flair for sketching and a love of malted chocolate. When my dad graduated college, he joined the Peace Corps and traded Iowa for Zaire in a move that would define his future career and family. Forty-two years later, when I graduated college with the same degree, I moved to an island in a place I’d never been.

It’s from there that I write this essay. It’s strange how backing away, even for just a few months, can lend such perspective to one’s life. Far from home, I see myself and the people around me with more clarity. I’m not sure where I’m going, but I know that wherever I end up, I’ll always be taking some of my dad with me. Knowing that gives me comfort and strength for a lifetime.

Happy birthday, Dad! Hope it’s a good one.