Dad the Influencer
I am never far away from understanding the influence my life has in the lives of others – especially as a Dad. In my role as a community leader, I am charged with being a person of influence. But that is work. Work in the sense of being paid, but also in that I need to be intentional. As a Dad, whether I’m intentional, or not, I have influence over my kids.
I’d like to think that I can continue my Peter Pan fairy tale and live a life of selfish immaturity. I fantasize about my kids ignoring my dysfunctions and moving past my stunted growth, without me having to face those demons personally. My grandfather didn’t slay these dragons, my father has been unsuccessful, thus far, and the battle still rages large in my own backyard.
If I go to my grave, with the beasts of still raging, then I’ve passed on a terrible inheritance to my kids. Most parents I know, would readily die for their children. I’m not different. Step in front of a bus? No problem. Take a bullet? No hesitation. So, why won’t I throw myself in front of the runaway train of fear, addiction, and lack of discipline in my life?
Yesterday, while working at Starbuck’s, I saw a young dad come in with his preschool son. The dad was enamored with the boy. He walked with his chest out and couldn’t take his eyes off the kid. The family sat down for their Starbuck’s treats – the boy had nice cup of hot chocolate. But in a few moments the dad began to encourage the kid to go outside. The boy didn’t want to.
I was struck with the thought that the father wanted to smoke, but why would the boy want to go outside? It was a cool and grey day out there and the fun of this outing was being in Starbucks with his mommy and daddy. Sure enough, dad was able to convince his son to go outside. While mommy and the boy huddled against the cold and the noise of the highway, dad lit up a cigarette.
It made me mad. Did this guy know the influence he was having on his son? Did he know that his son was more likely to smoke, because his dad does? Did he care? Or was it about his own selfish desire to indulge his habit – his addiction?
That’s what got me to thinking about myself. What habits am I passing on to my kids? What habits have been handed down for generations? Can they stop here? Can I help my children live a more abundant life?
I may be willing to give my life for them, but am I willing to sacrifice a few selfish indulgences?
UPDATE (11.20.2008)
This Aricle, in Newsweek supports the above opinion. My wife sent it to me this evening. Enjoy:
THE SPECTRUM
Like Parent, Like Child
The diet and lifestyle choices you make don’t just affect you.
Dean Ornish M.D.
Failure to Plan, part 2
My Dad is moving back to Colorado and I’m sad. As I’ve mentioned before, he was born in the log cabin his grandfather built on the Oregon Coast, in Alsea. My great-grandparents emigrated to Oregon via the Oregon Trail and later imported my great-great-grandfather – who is buried in Oregon City. That’s how I can claim a fifth-generational tie as an Oregonian.
My Dad’s family later moved to Clark County, Washington around 1942 and my Dad has lived in the Portland-metro area until we asked my parents to move to Colorado while my Mom was dying. My Dad has been living in a single-wide, on my brother’s property, ever since.
A couple of months ago, my Dad came out for an extended visit. We tried hard to convince him to move back to Portland. Not only are we grandparent-deficient here, but we like having him around. We also thought we would like to spend more time with him, especially in his advanced age and declining health. He returned to Colorado after my Smiling Son’s first birthday in September, but showed no indication of returning.
The next thing we knew, he had flown back to Portland (while we were out of town), bought a 25-foot travel trailer, and began making plans to pack up his stuff in Colorado and move back to Oregon to live in that trailer – which he’d parked on a friend’s place in Wilsonville. Two-weeks later, he was back.
Well, I believe in good planning. It is fun to be impulsive and spontaneous, but only about things that lend themselves to being fun and spontaneous. A quick trip to the beach, buying a candybar, or taking a personal day. These are all things that tend to rely upon impulsiveness.
Marriage, cross-country moves, and buying new red sportscars do not lend themselves well to impulsive decisions. Of this I know too much (and if you stick around this blog too much, you might discover some of which I speak).
Anyway, to make a long story short, it didn’t take my Dad long to discover that living an hour an a half away from any family, with no sewer service, in a small trailer parked ilegally near $800k homes was not going to workout well. We watched the discouragement and depression creep over him. We offered other solutions, but he’d already spent any liquid cash, or reserve credit he had. Last week he told us he was going back to Colorado and today he is loading up a U-Haul trailer and putting his newly acquired RV into storage.
We had lunch with my Dad yesterday, to celebrate the day I was born, fifty years ago. As he got into his car, on that very rainy Portland afternoon, we waved goodbye – hoping he survives 2-3 day the drive back to Pierce, Colorado.
If…
- If my Dad had laid out a plan…
- If my Dad had saved some cash…
- If my Dad had found a suitable place to park his RV…
- If he had waited until he sold his single-wide in Colorado…
- If he had been methodical…
- If he had been open to advice…
One of the wisest bits of advice I’ve picked up during the course of my life was picked up during my disaster management training:
A failure to plan is a plan to fail.”
It is sad watching my Dad headed back to Colorado with his tail between his legs. It is even sadder knowing I won’t be able to spend much more quality time with him during his remaining years alive.
I’m going to miss him… I already miss him.
Are you still learning – or have you settled?
Some days are just made for reminiscing. Rainy Fall days in Portland are not too rare, but they bring out the introspective souls – of which I am one. As I approach my 50th birthday, it would only seem normal that I would be doing some reflection. Especially since it seems like just yesterday I was living in the 80s and dancing like a Stray Cat.
To celebrate my birthday, we decided to head down to Oak’s Park and do a little rollerskating. This place was a childhood favorite of mine, and a childhood favorite of my Mom’s. I have history there and I’ve wanted to share that with my imported family. Unfortunately, after we arrived, we realized that today was a school holiday and the place was a zoo. So we drove to the otherside of the river and had lunch at the Spaghetti Factory instead (It was delicious!).
From there, we decided to forgo skating for today and go back tomorrow. We decided to make a Costco stop on the way home. As I crested the Sylvan Hill, leaving Portland and entering Beaverton, I decided to stop at one of the fire stations where I used to work, in West Slope, and ask if I could fill up a low tire.
It turns out that the lieutenant on-duty today was an old friend. I used to play hockey with her twin brother and I did some training when she was hired. We just had a great chat catching up with old times, and she got to meet my family. I’m not usually the kind of guy to stop and ask for favors like that (I’d rather pay the fifty-cents and the mini-mart), but today I felt compelled – and brave.
I was so glad I stopped and caught up with an old-friend
I was so glad I stopped and caught up with an old-friend. Plus, I spent three very memorable years working out of that station. While working at that station, I went through my divorce, got certified as a paramedic, and moved into a new worldview. I have some very clear memories of those days.
On the way to Costco, the kids had fallen asleep, so I dropped off The Wife and continued to drive around. The last few times I’d driven around NW Beaverton/NE Hillsboro, I had gotten a little disoriented. When I left the Portland Metro area 13 years ago, that was all forested, wetlands, pasture, and small family farms. So, I turned on the GPS and began to explore.
I discovered that SW Baseline Rd is no longer a narrow, two-lane country-road. It is now a major arterial rivaling some of the best roads anywhere – complete with light rail, high-denisty housing, heavy retail/commerical, and other transit options. I discovered the downtown Hillsboro has been radically transformed with a new civic building and light rail.
Leaving downtown Hillsboro, I took a gander at the Edward Meadows subdivision off of River Rd. I remember when our family friends moved into there, about 35 years ago. What had been farmland, was being transformed by hundreds of spec houses. As kids, we used to see how many of the newly built, not yet occupied houses we could get into. It was easier than you may imagine, and we never broke anything to gain access.
When I was in my twenties, I house-sat our friend’s home while they did worked in Ireland for six months. I drove slowly by the house. It hadn’t changed. Only the trees were bigger. I remembered when there were no trees anywhere around there.
The biggest shock of the day though, was my careful inspection of the NW Cornelius Pass Rd and Baseline Rd intersection. It wasn’t that long ago that I was responding to car wrecks at that intersection – from the TVFR station on 209th and Tualatin Valley Highway. Back then, that area was extremely rural, heavily wooded, and cars would sometimes disappear into the woods and wouldn’t be discovered for days.
Today, that area has been transformed into a high-traffic, strip-mall carnival. One could disappear into that bastion of capitalism and not be seen for weeks. I was stunned.
the constant in our world is change
I guess I don’t have anything profound to say, other than the constant in our world is change. It was cool to be at Oaks Park, Sellwood, the Old Spaghetti Factory overlooking the Willamette, at the West Slope Fire Station, catching up with an old friend, and cruising some areas where some of my life’s story was written.
I have a strong pull in my heart for nostalgia, but most of all it is fun to retrace the paths of where I grew up and grew wisdom. It’s been said that if we don’t learn from our mistakes, we are destined to repeat them. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the last 35 years (the first 15 are gimmees), but I’ve learned a lot of lessons.
How about you? Are you still learning – or have you settled?
Confessing my Dad Attitude 