Monday, March 30, 2009

Sample Exchanges

A few days ago.

Me: "Dylan, do you ever feel like I still treat you like a little kid?

Dylan: "Yeah Dad, like all the time. Please keep that in mind in the future."

A couple of days ago, while I was reading a magazine.

Dylan: "DAD!"

Me: "Whoa! Is everything okay?"

Dylan: "You tell me. I've been talking to you for the last five minutes and you haven't even noticed. I was wondering if I should call 9-1-1."

This morning, while Dylan was hugging Rhonda goodbye.

Me: "I love the way Dylan's hair has my texture and Mom's color."

Dylan: "Dad, before you can have texture, you have to have hair."

Parenting is so much simpler before they start talking.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

A Wedding

I'd finished flying for the day, and after dropping off the paperwork in the admin assistant's bin, I turned on my cell phone. I heard a message beep. "Hi Hal, it's Tina. I have news for you: I'm getting married! Ty and I are leaving Alaska in a few days and heading for Ventura. I know it's short notice, but I would love for you to attend."

I'd first met Tina and her mom, Terry, in the mid-eighties, outside of a biker bar named The Wheel, in the mountains above Ojai, California. Tina was a year old, and you would have thought every woman and every one-percenter in the place was an aunt or uncle.

Terry and I started dating a year later, and Tina sort of put us together. I'd arrived at a fish and chips place in Isla Vista with another woman on the back of the Harley, and Terry was there with another guy, Tina in tow. I sat next to Tina, and as it turned out, the little blond two year-old was more fun to talk to than my date. Tina was eating french fries drenched in tartar sauce, and no one wanted to share them with her. Except me. I really didn't like french fries with tartar sauce, but the little tyke was so doggone cute that I had to accept. When it came time to leave, Terry held Tina up to me, and she held my face in her hands while she kissed my cheek. I rode away with my date behind me, wondering if I'd stopped being a real man: I'd arrived feeling fixated on my date's fabulous ass, and I left feeling as if a two year-old had stolen a chunk of my heart.

For four years, Terry and I had an on-again, off-again relationship. When we parted for good, Terry was understandably angry, but after a few months, we agreed that it would be good if I stayed involved in Tina's life. Terry's bitterness waned, we became friends, and I often came by to take Tina for an outing.

But, things changed when I got married and moved to northern California. Instead of dropping by to take Tina to a movie, it was the occasional meeting for dinner with Tina and Terry. I'd reunited with the love of my life, and often, the rest of the world just seemed on the back burner.

When the years rolled by, and I realized that Tina was graduating from high school, I regretted that I hadn't made a better effort to stay in contact with her. I wondered if she felt I'd abandoned her. Still, I wasn't her biological father, so no one seemed to point fingers. If I was concerned about avoiding blame, I could count myself in the clear, except for what my heart spoke.
The wedding date was set while I was due to be away in Louisiana. I was surprised when my vacation request was approved, and happy. One Saturday morning, I kissed Rhonda and Dylan goodbye, and began the 550 mile drive from Redding to Ventura.

That night, I left the motel and headed for the wedding. I was nervous as hell.

I walked to the door, and a young man greated me. Tall, athletic-looking guy with old-soul eyes. "Is this the wedding site for Ty and Tina?" "You're in the right place," he said, "I'm Ty, the groom." He shook my hand.

"You're Ty?" I silently berated myself: no, Dipshit, he's lying to you. He chuckled. "That's me. What's your name?" "I'm Hal." "You're Hal?" He grabbed my hand again and grinned. "I'm so glad you could make it. Tina will be so excited."

Ty pointed me in the right direction. I walked upstairs, feeling a little numb.


"Okay," I told myself. "When it comes time to give your toast, you'll probably feel emotional. Just stick with the words and everything will be fine." I've done a little public speaking here and there over the years, and I'd always managed to get through those occasions without locking up. And heck, it was a small wedding, with only twenty-two others present. I’d rehearsed it in my mind enough to feel confident: I'd come across as urbane yet unaffected, witty yet imbued with reverence. For me, anyway. Everything was fine until I started talking.

Yep, I started talking, and it all went to hell. Tears filled my eyes, and it felt like a golf ball had wedged itself in my throat. And all I’d managed to get out at that point was, “Tina and I . . .”

I needed a gulp of champagne. Hell, I needed a bottle of champagne. I threw back my glass. The champagne missed my stomach. The champagne went into my lungs. Oh crap. I ran out of the room and suffered a coughing fit in the hallway. I couldn't stop coughing. I felt like I might barf on the wall. There was silence in the room behind me. Twenty-two people waited for a tall middle-aged doofus to finish coughing and finish the damn toast.

I walked back into the room. The bride and groom wore understanding looks, but some of the folks were looking a wee bit uncomfortable. Crap.

I took a few deep breaths. I wanted someone to hand me that damn bottle of champagne. “First of all,” I began, “I’d recommend that you all avoid inhaling champagne.” Everyone laughed. Good. I was gaining a little momentum. But then I looked at the bride again, looking so lovely in the wedding dress she’d brought back from Instanbul. The golf ball returned to my throat, big time.

I felt no choice but to plow forward. If I waited for the golf ball to go away, we might be there all night. I tried to look about the room, and I began again. “Tina and I first bonded one day when she was two years old. I was one of a few adults sitting at a table in a fish and chips place . . .”

Aw shit. The golf ball was swelling into a soft ball. I could hardly breathe, much less speak. I took several breaths before I could even think about speaking again. So much for urbane and witty.

“She discovered that one adult there would allow her to hand feed him French fries coated with tarter sauce. That adult was me.”

More breaths.

“For several years, I was a regular part of her life. In recent years, we haven’t had much contact, because I suck at keeping in touch.”

I felt in danger of deconstructing into a blubbering idiot at any moment. I took more deep breaths. “I can’t say much more, except that I’ve always looked at Tina as the daughter of my heart. Ty and Tina, congratulations.”

I felt like a first-class numbnuts, but a few people came up to me afterward to tell me how much they enjoyed my toast. I guess folks find it quite touching when a tall middle-aged guy makes a blubbering ass of himself.


The reception and dinner afterward was wonderful. I got the chance to reconnect with Tina's grandparents, with Terry's brothers, and I had a little time to get to know Ty a little better. Tina hugged me several times over the evening, and thanked me for coming, and I had to fight back tears every time. I felt that I'd done quite enough blubbering during the toast. The second time she hugged me that evening, a vision came over me. It was 1986, and I was carrying the three year-old Tina through the supermarket, explaining the products up on the shelves. It was 1986, and she fell asleep on my shoulder, and I walked around that supermarket for an hour until she woke up.

She thanked me. The thing is, I’m the one who’s thankful. That wedding connected me to an important part of my past, and renewed the hope that I that I wasn’t just some chickenshit bandit who'd preyed upon two hearts. What I gave wasn’t enough, of course. When you love someone, especially a child, can you ever give enough? No. But that wedding told me that I could at least fold up one particular circus of regret living in my heart, and banish it to the back forty. It told me that just maybe, the thought that sometimes pierced me, they would have been better off never knowing me, was blessedly off the mark. What I left wasn’t enough, but it was enough that I still have a place in the hearts of two women who were once a big part of my life. What I left wasn’t enough, but now, I have a renewed hope that I left more than I took.

Friday, March 06, 2009

January Swaps with March

My previous post had some pics along the stretch of Highway 299 from Redding to Eureka. I repeated the trip a few days ago. Since we sometimes fly in and out of ports, we offshore helicopter pilots are now required to carry a Transportation Worker Indentification Credential, a "TWIC card." It requires not one, but two trips to the closest TWIC office to complete the process. The second trip is required to actually pick up the card; the feds won't mail it. Thus, 135 bucks, 640 miles of driving, and I now have a federal I.D. card, issued by the TSA, that according to the TSA, cannot be used as as a means of identification when going through TSA-staffed airport security. Did you get that? Ah yes, our tax dollars at work.

Enough of that. I took a few pics again while driving 299. When I drove to Eureka in late January, conditions were spring-like, with snow only seen on the tops of peaks. It was a little different this time.

Here's a shot taken from a vista point in late January.

The same vista point in early March. It's common to see such a scene from here in January, but not so much in March.

The ghost town of Helena, California. It's only 1/4 mile off off 299. According to this web page, Helena was settled around 1849 by French-Canadian prospectors from Oregon. The community, at its peak, had many acres of orchards, two hotels, a butcher shop, a brewery, a blacksmith, and a sawmill.

The butcher shop, maybe?

I saw a lot of snow during my trip, but I didn't have to drive through any until almost home. Here, I'm on the section of 299 passing by Whiskeytown Lake. Snow here in March is really unusual.