The Father through the Eyes of the Son

I have known him my entire life, yet he has not known me for the entirety of his own life. I know this man like every crevice on the back of my hand. He raised me and developed me into a young man. Yes, it’s my father. The passive aggressive leader and mentor. He’s a busy man, a chief of five fire departments, much like a bee in a hive. Tonight, he sits across from me. I observe him from across our drab, white wallpapered living room. His hazel eyes blankly watch a show on the small cube attached to the wall. I notice things and consider things about him that I hadn’t noticed or considered ever before.

If someone told me that it’s hard to pick my father out of a crowd, I would sarcastically ask in return how long ago they received their head injury. His scruffy, greyish brown beard on his plump, round face, which matches the bushy caterpillars crawling above his taffy brown eyes loom largely in the dim light of the room. The way his dark grey hair tries to run away from his boride yet stays close to his sides near his perky ears, to listen as they do. His lumberjack chest puffing in and out, slowly, steadily, keeping his kind heart beating. His body, small yet muscular, standing at only 5’ 9” now rests as he lectures me about how “The Greatest American Hero” is the best TV show to ever exist. I notice his worn down, dark blue jeans he wears ever so often to get things accomplished, or as he likes to put it, “Dressing for work to keep your mother from bringing it up.”  His toes wiggling in the fluffy navy-blue slippers we bought for him two Christmas’ ago. If I ever got lost when I was a younger boy, I would immediately start looking for my indistinguishable father, knowing that he’s one of a kind physically, just as much as his strange opinions.

His hand fiddling with something. Perhaps the silver wrappers from the two pieces of his favorite gum, Spearmint. Suddenly, his hand leaps out of his lap, covering his obnoxious sneeze with his bare hands. This habit has always been a pet peeve of mine. He then proceeds to rub his hands on his pants and turn off the television. He gives off an exasperated sigh and then struggles to get out of his chair which consumed him in the hours of watching his favorite show. As he waltzes to the kitchen, he sings his favorite old timey song, “Lovin Touchin Squeezin,” by (the original) Journey. I follow him, he grabs an ice-cold glass of water from the fridge. He only drinks alcohol occasionally and has never understood the point of drinking milk. He’d tease me as I drank my milk saying, “Think of how thirsty that first guy must’ve been to start drinking from a cow’s udders.”   An interesting man my father, in his mannerisms, as well as his teachings.

Like clockwork, my brother walks down the stairs, across the living room, and into the kitchen. My father reminds my brother and I about how much he hates alcohol and how it can ruin your life. Having worked as an EMT/firefighter, he has told us about many “horror stories” of the terrible effects alcohol and drug abuse have on a person. He’d always say things like, “Don’t be that meth addict that got so messed up he dry froze his hand and smashed it to pieces with a hammer.” Every experience is a life lesson when my father is involved, and that’s what makes him such a significant role model.

Most kids grow up thinking that they have the greatest dad in the world. It’s hard to make an opinion when everyone says that, so I’m going to take an alternate-route and say that I have the most entertaining father in the world. From his lumberjack-like features, to his weird mannerisms, and finally to his never-ending lessons of life, my father never disappoints in his attempt to be humorous as well as a good mentor. The lesson that I will always remember fondly is the one he gave after I had got dumped in a relationship. He put his feet up on the table, looked at me, and said, “Women……. We can’t live without them, and we can’t bury them underneath the deck in the backyard.”