Life is a Highway

Bill Cosby has a phenomenal bit where he talks about "his boy." He raised his boy to play football, and on the sidelines he is a proud dad. When his boy scores the winning touchdown and is interviewed by the news anchor, Dad is beaming with pride. The first words uttered from the football star's mouth... "Hi, Mom!"

While I sing my mother's praises often, well deserved mind you, I don't sing my father's praises enough. So, to sacrifice myself on the alter of dignity on this last day of November, I want to share with the proverbial you how grateful I am for my dad.

Like my mom, my dad has always encouraged me to be me. He has never pressured me to believe a certain way other than to love everyone. My father is one of the least judgmental people I have ever had the blessed opportunity to know. He, like that heroic figure, taught me that I: "can't really understand a person until [I] see things from his perspective...until [I] climb inside his skin and walk around in it." I truly feel blessed that my father taught me this by word and example.

My father has also taught me the importance and example of unconditional love. To illustrate this value, I wish to share with you an event that changed my perspective of him forever.
Although I was older when I moved away for college, the first semester was a bumpy road. I am not a terribly sociable person, as many of you know, so moving, to what to me felt like the absolute middle of nowhere, was a bit lonely.

One weekend during that honestly unforgettable semester, I went with my father on a haul. That's right, my daddy is a truck driver, and I wanted to know what it was like (I may have been motivated by an assignment for my Creative Writing class, but...details).

We did a fair amount of driving, talking, and eating less-than-nutritious-food on that trip, but it wasn't while we were on the road that I discovered just how much my father loved me and my family.

Once we returned, I was forced to face the dread that I would have to soon venture back to my cached solitude (I am, however, extremely grateful for the family who took me in at this time). As I was preparing to leave a tear or two may or may not have (I don't cry) found their way down my cheek. I expressed my displeasure about making the return to my Pops. What he said in reply is what has stuck with me the past five years. He said, "You really want to know what it is like to be a truck driver?...It's that feeling right there."

The drive home that afternoon was a blur. Literally. But for the first time in my adult life I realized how much I meant to the Old Man. He was and is willing to sacrifice seeing my little brothers become men. He misses making my mother laugh so hard her shoulders bounce and a little pee escapes, sorry Mom. He misses sleeping in on Saturdays and making breakfast on weekdays (I have so many memories of my father singing "Oh, what a beautiful morning" with the wrong lyrics while he fried eggs and ticked me off for being so gosh, darn chipper in the morning). He has given up so much so that his family can have what we want and need.
So thank you, Old Man, for showing me that unconditional love is putting others before yourself, and leaving the ones you love to give them what they need.
I miss you, Pops. Drive safely, and I will see you on Christmas.