My Dream
Hindsight's a funny thing. When I reflect on my childhood, it's hard to know what was reality at the time, but when putting the mosaic together certain things stand out in my mind. My dad was always busy. There was little time for us to share together. I am used to considering "time to share together" as events like ski trips, Giants games, rides in the Corvette, and working for him Saturdays and summers. But as I've grown up in some degrees outside of my family unit as well as experiencing honest love and companionship and what that means, I realize far more was "missing" for me than the father-son events. Even though we called each other "Buddy", we rarely spoke to each other. But at the time, I didn't know I wanted more. I didn't know what "more" was. Now that I know "more" I want more "more". The silver lining is the Alzheimer's experience I've shared with my Dad could have a meaningful, lasting impact on how I am "father" to my children. But the importance of being there now, of highlighting what it is that is so valuable to me rests on me identifying the pattern I was following and am trying to break all the while I'm living the exact same pattern as I've come to want to avoid. But am I trying to avoid the being or the action of who I am? Is it a way of life or the means to living a way of life? Perhaps it's a bit of both.
The earliest memories of my childhood relationship with my dad center around me trying to be just like him. I'm immediately drawn to a picture from the early 80s where I'm laying in the arms of my dad on the red 70s pattern couch in the family room. He's fast asleep and probably in his underwear, which was pretty common oddly enough. There are pictures of me holding a beer can, like dad. There are pictures of me "reading the newspaper", like dad.
Dad was a star athlete. Mom wouldn't let me play football, so I played soccer. And I knew of my dad's success as a running back and his speed as a sprinter. So I made running fast "my thing". I lived across the street from my elementary school and I would sprint to and from school. People always thought it was strange, but I did it. I'd pride myself in the neighborhood games like Manhunt, Running Bases, SPUD, and the like on my quickness and agility. Everyone coveted my speed and agility.
My dad had a paper route when he was a boy, so I wanted to be a paperboy. I wanted to earn an income as soon as I could. I had to wait until I was 12 in order to get a license to work. I had to get a special license that allowed me to work at 12. So I did. And I delivered newspapers for 6 years until I graduated from high school. As much as I was trying to impress my dad, he never really participated in it, letting my mom handle it with me.
I was always looking for an income, so I would work for my dad on saturdays that I didn't have soccer practice, which was most of the year. I'd go to Strober King and watch my dad be "JY" and be the boss. He had high standards and would make sure that every task I took on was done to his demanding satisfaction. Price tags on the items on the floor had to be straight and just in the right spot. All the items had to be dust-free and in good condition. My responsibilities were to keep the store clean and the items looking ready to sell. And I executed perfectly, getting a Jackson or two in return. In later years - high school and college - I would work the entire summer for him, which was really fun and probably the closest we ever were before the Alzheimer's years.
I dreamed of being successful like my dad. We had the nicest home in our neighborhood. It never occurred to me that there were likely nicer neighborhoods in the country. And we had a Corvette. Yeah baby.
So with being financially successful in mind, I decided I'd make a million bucks by my late 20s or 30. And I'd retire by 35 and become a teacher or something else that I wanted to do. Litle did I realize I was setting myself up for a period of confusion and frustration in trying to reach such an ambitious and vague goal.
In order to reach this goal, I'd have to get myself into a top notch college. But I hated all the dorks in my honors classes, so I didn't really envision myself at an Ivy League school. In middle school, Duke won the NCAA championship and they were blue so I thought that was cool. And then I heard they were a good academic school too so that pretty much settled it for me. Duke was where I'd go to get what I needed to chase my dream.
[As far as the storytelling goes, I envision weaving a bunch of my story with his story. Either at the same time period - ie his high school and my high school together - or some other way]