My dad likes to talk about the weather. Not as idle conversation, he actually really likes weather. He can fly small planes, he prefers to drive in the rain, and though he is not a storm-chaser, late at night–when the wind picks up–he’ll go outside buck naked just to ’see what its’ doing’. One day after a men’s group he attends, he became concerned. If all we do as parents is talk about the weather, then we’re bound to miss what we were doing in the weather. By digging a little deeper into our children’s lives, parents have a more skilled basis by which to parent.
With divine inspiration, my father called me up several months ago and said
I have some things I want to talk about with you and your brother. It so easy for life to speed by and I just have some things I want us to talk about. How about we meet up in a city where no one knows us and we spend some time together…just the three of us. We’ll drink some beers, eat steak, and just hang out.
That was not an easy call for my dad to make. There was no precedent for his proposition. I could have shot him down, and later he would say that I had a right to (which I disagreed with) say no him.
Several days before we left–while I was in the shower–I realized I had done nothing to prepare for this epic journey I was about to go on. I knew this unique opportunity had the potential for clearing away any sad feelings from the past. I became anxious that I was going to let an organic moment slip me by. Then I was like, ” Oh, wait, this is my dad’s call–he’s got it taken care of”. All I had to do was show up and be honest. And hope that it was not freezing in the Twin Cities, as I no longer own a proper winter coat.
Since my dad and I both live in Seattle area, we flew together and met my brother in Minneapolis within an hour of us landing. I’m a little chatty. So I started getting into the heart of my dad’s agenda (his Outline as it would affectionately be called throughout the trip) even before we tore into the second little bottle of Cab Sauv.
On the plane, we talked about a moral compass. We talked about his relationship with our mother and why it didn’t work out. Every time I would hit on a topic, he would say, “It’s in the outline”. I’d laugh, and we would start talking about something else. Quickly I realized he had a pretty ambitious outline.
My brother landed about an hour after we did. Just enough time for my dad and I to get a coffee. We went to Mike’s gate. It was odd to be waiting for my brother to exit the plane. In the past, when we would rendez-vous with our dad, it was Mike and I travelling together, and our dad, at the end of a long flourescent tunnel. Beaming brightly at the sight of his two kids, we would anxiously go to him.
Mike came off the plane straight from work. He looked awesome. It was a thrill to see him. Instantly we began joking and teasing each other. I’m sure our dad was just giddy watching his boys.
Most of the trip was spontaneous. Where we ate, how we got there, what we did during basically the entire time we were there was up for grabs. The one thing my dad wanted to do was sit down with his boys and go over a four page Outline he had written on his computer. He wanted to do it in a quiet setting with no interruptions. Even where this would happen was undetermined. But none of that mattered to my dad. He was driven by the content of the Outline, not the context.
As luck would have it, I’m a context guy. So, where the meeting took place, where we ate, what time, what we’d drink (though my dad picked out the wine at the Capital Grille) were left to my orchestration. This made me feel like I was contributing, which was nice for my little “control issues”.
My dad jam-packed a three and a half hour conversation with us. He wanted to touch every single stone. We shared at length about what it was like to be a brother, a father, a son, our relationship to God, our wives, health, and money. The Outline which took place in the Platinum room at the Westin was the second most memorable three hours of my life this year. My son’s birth being the first.
We took a break every hour. It was an intense conversation. I recommend this to every family. Make the time for it. I think it is crucial. We have made plans to do it at least once a year, and even that is not enough.
After we throughly combed my dads Outline (leaving our relationship to God for dinner–no way that was going to happen in 20 minutes) we went into the lobby. I got a welcomed margarita as we watched the beginning of the Breeders Cup Races. We went upstairs to take a needed shower and change for our big night out. All the stars aligned, and we scored a 7pm reservation at the Capital Grille. It was a perfect place for us to eat. The room was packed, we had a table in front of the kitchen. It is a bold room and fit our weekend’s last meal with panache.
Moments before we left for dinner, the 2009 Breeders Cup Classic came on the omnipresent hotel television. My dad, and his brother Sam are HUGE horse race nuts, as is my brother. So we were all pretty stoked to be able to watch it. The odds were like 52-4 for Zenyatta, a five-year old female in a males’ race. This was her 14th race, with the previous 13 races being undefeated.
I’m not usually self-conscious. Days will go by and I don’t look in a mirror. I’m happy to go skinny dipping at a public hot spring. It’s totally fine with me to have my daughters tears/piss/vomit/whatever land on me in public. But for some reason, I will always remember that while we were watching one of the coolest horse racing events I’ve ever seen, I was in my underwear. Old man style: black socks and black boxers–white boy knees–a look my wife thinks is none the sexy.
Arm in arm with my dad and my brother screaming for a horse to go faster, in tears, hoping for this female horse to come from–no kidding–dead last (it was a bizarre start) and win a race filled with arguably the worlds best male horses. I remember wondering if I should put pants on. And then I remember thinking how vulnerable I just was an hour before in the Platinum room. Things had changed. I didn’t need pants. I just needed to be there, with my dad and brother. Cheering.
Like coming down from a mountain, I came home from Minneapolis feeling as though the world had changed around me. My dad took a big risk in asking us to leave our families and join him on what would be the beginning of a new tradition. I am eager to see where this thing takes us and our relationship.
We’ve got a plan that the writer of the Outline is a revolving post. I get to do the next one. Whom ever writes the outline picks the city. So far, I’m thinking Kansas City.
We keep our Band-Aids under the sink in our bathroom. They sit nestled in an old 2 qt. Le Creuset cardboard box. It is a very sturdy box. Mary got the red french oven pot from her mother several years ago.