I’m at the playground with Amanda and she is running from place to place. In between places, she comes and grabs my hand and beckons me to play. I do it half-heartedly, preferring to focus on a podcast and a game of free-cell. At some level, I’m sure Amanda notices. But I do show up.
After 90 minutes at the playground, I say “juice” and Amanda runs to put on her shoes and we are off to the dollar store to get her a 2.5RMB drink. She brings the juice to the cashier by herself. We do this daily and the cashier is eagerly anticipating Amanda’s playful face . They both smile and say “bye-bye”. I pay.
I then load her into the stroller and open the juice for a five minute walk home. On this specific day, just outside the dollar store there are two young people kneeling at a middle-age woman’s feet. One of them sprays cleaning solution on the shoes while trying to sell to the middle-age women. I see a look of “how do i get out of this” on her face which I understand. I also understand and appreciate the young people hustling to make a buck although I never let them clean my shoes despite repeated attempts.
I write all this as an odd prelude of some thoughts I’ve been having about my dad. He wasn’t the most giving individual although I think he wanted to be. His love always felt conditional. He could be quick to temper. He was not often there for me emotionally, although again, I think he wanted to be and at times tried. I would never think to ask him for anything. One thing he did do, he showed up. And that ain’t nothing.
For some reason, when I think of him showing up, an early memory emerges. It’s baseball practice, midget league so I’m maybe 11. He’s a coach for the team and he’s showing us how to use this new training device, a batting tee. Place the ball on the tee, and swing. It wasn’t complicated. He swung but because he played so much golf he swung with a massive uppercut and hit the tee stem, the ball falling to the ground. Try again. And again. All the same result.
My dad coached my baseball teams at All Souls and midget league. He was at most sporting events. He took us camping and to Disneyland. He took an interest in our behavior and let it be known when we weren’t behaving. Let it be known loud and clear. When he got sober, he tried to connect with me more. There was a time when he tried repairing a bike for me to ride. He wasn’t the most handy of guys and progress was slow. I remember we were fixing the bike together on the side of the house and he ignored my less than helpful suggestions. He went into the kitchen and told my mom something like “for the first time, I’m doing something as a father”. I’m not sure we ever got that bike to work but he did pay $55 for a used bike for me. It was beyond the most fancy bike I could imagine. It even had shock absorbers. I was floating. Then one day, kids at school took it for a ride while I had basketball practice. They broke the frame. I was scared to death to see my dad that day. He was furious and wanted to know the kids’ family names who had taken my bike. Mostly, I think he was disappointed in having a son who let that happen.
When Sabrina got sick last year and had months of chemo, I knew I needed to show up. Take more care of Amanda. Put aside my needs. Be there for her. Was I? Yes, physically. But I wasn’t happy about it. I wanted to be the caring husband, father, dog owner. And while I did the care, I was often frustrated, not really embracing the opportunity. But I did show up.
I know that there is some distance between myself and my children. I wonder how to close that gap or if it needs closing. Then I realize the gap is with myself.