You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
My strange father’s day gift to myself.
Sunday is father’s day and I am alone.
I will do yard work. I will go to the pool. I will write this story.
I am alone.
The house is quiet. I hear the air conditioning vents blow air into the room.
It’s 95 degrees out.
It’s a hot June Father’s day.
I am alone.
I’m not looking for sympathy. I don’t need sympathy. I knew I would be alone.
I set in motion this series of events and it is good.
It’s what I wanted.
“Happy Father’s Day,” I say to the reflection in the mirror.
The image smiles oddly like a reject from One Flew Over the Coo Coo’s Nest.
Father’s Day is suppose to be a time to celebrate Dad.
But I don’t need a gathering to feel needed and appreciated.
The Hallmark card of the kids bringing me breakfast in bed is not a reality, not for me.
I could be upset, but I am not.
I’m content.
If my children were in the same zip code, I would expect them to pop over. Maybe then, I would expect a visit or a weird looking tie.
But none of my offspring is even close.
I have one kid in Australia where it may all ready be father’s day as I type these words.
And I have another kid in Alabama, where it is Father’s Day 1997 in so many ways.
A third child is in Portland on a white water rafting trip.
Cell reception is certainly going to be an issue in a cavern beneath the wide open sky.
2 older kids out-of-state was out of my control.
The rafting trip? It’s my doing.
I knew the white water trip was over father’s day weekend and I still sent the kid.
If I needed the Hallmark card, I wouldn’t have sent him.
I had two options.
Give the youngest son a trip he’ll remember or keep him in hot steamy Tennessee because that’s what the pamphlet says to do.
Not this time.
I sent the kid because he deserves it. I sent him because he has had a lousy summer. I sent him because I wanted him to go.
He is 16. He is mature but also inexperienced. He is intelligent but not worldly. He is reliable but untested under pressure.
I was reminded of this Thursday evening as the stress of being a parent from 1000 miles away sank in.
“We just landed,” his text reads.
I look at my watch.
It’s 7 pm. His flight from Dallas to Portland is an hour away, an eternity in airline time.
“Get off the plane. Check the departure board. Go to your gate. Get something to eat,” I text back.
I feel a sense of relief. It’s his first time flying solo.
The good news? He’s landed. The worrisome thought? This neophyte of air travel still has to navigate the Dallas airport and find his connecting flight.
Man, I wish I could have gotten a non-stop, I think to myself.
But no such thing exists from Nashville to Portland.
Just ask Lewis and Clark.
Yes, a direct flight would have been preferable. But it was impossible. So the kid had to stop. And anytime you stop somewhere, anywhere, something can happen to topple the dominoes of trouble.
“I would if I could get off this plane,” he texts me back.
Uh oh!
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s another plane in the gate.”
I stare at my smart phone.
That is not good. Is it a snafu, bad planning? Will it affect the connection. It’s hard to connect if you can’t deplane.
30 minutes pass. I’m getting worried. Now it’s 7:30 pm.
He still has 30 minutes to make his next flight, but deplaning takes time. Getting to a gate takes time.
Now my dad brain is nervous. What if he doesn’t catch his connection?
What will I do?
He’s 16. He’s 1000 miles away.
Can I book him a hotel room? How will I get him there? Will they rent a minor a room? How will he pay? Can I really ask the kid to sleep in the airport?
It’s a black hole of possibilities I don’t want to deal with.
“We’re off,” comes the text.
I look at my watch. 25 minutes.
“Find the gate and run.”
A few minutes later. “I don’t see the gate? There’s only one flight to Portland.”
I am perplexed. I don’t know what to text.
Suddenly another message. “Wait. I found it on another board. C-36.”
20 minutes to go.
“Where are you?”
“I’m on the moving sidewalk. This airport is big.”
“Get there,” I urge.
15 minutes.
“i’m hungry,” he says.
AAARRRGGGHHH.
So many issues, so little time.
“Get to the gate.”
10 minutes till departure.
“Are you there?”
Nothing.
8 minutes till departure.
“Where are you?”
My brain is spinning. He’s going to miss the flight. I’m going to have to call his mom to explain.
That’s not going to go well.
Happy Father’s Day goes to hell in a hand basket.
7 minutes till departure.
“I’m buying life savers and chips.”
I stare at the text.
What!
“Get to the gate, now!”
8pm.
“Are you on board?”
“Made it,” comes the response.
Whew.
I feel a sense of relief.
He’s now in his seat and in the hands of the pilot.
Next stop Portland, where his white water rafting trip is my father’s day gift to him, and to me.
Wow. Stress. Relief.
The kid did well, handling pressure and real-time real-life stress.
He will have fun rafting with loved ones.
The Hallmark card is for someone else.
I will celebrate that the little bird left the nest and flew solo.
Happy Father’s Day.
Life’s Crazy™