Today I finally told my father about my planned adventure. The real question is why did it take me so long? I suppose I rationalize it that I am trying not to spread this news too much around my small (almost claustrophobic-inducingly sized) town, and by keeping it from my dear old dad I was minimizing my chances of rumors spreading. The problem with that is that I know there is more to it. I think I was nervous about relaying the news to him as I was not quite sure how he would react. My mother, for instance, freaked out when I told her and it ended up with us in a fight. My father was of course more calm about it, but I was never expecting a noticeable reaction, which I think made me all the more nervous.
Let me digress for a moment. Its hard sometimes to tell people about my ideas because I grew up in a place where people just do not do this sort of thing. In my town you grow up to go to the local high school, go off to college (if you feel inclined), as long as it is a local commuter school. However, once that "learning" nonsense is done with, it is pretty understood that your goal in life is to find a halfway decent job, and a halfway decent woman so you can settle down and raise a halfway decent family with kids that will continue this process, ad nauseam. These are the views of my town, the views I grew up with, and for a time the view I was happy to embrace. "After all why travel anywhere when you have paradise right here."
That changed for me when I went away to college. The world was much bigger than I realized... Heck, New Jersey was much bigger than I realized. I went away to college for one year and that was all it took. I was no longer a small town suburbanite with small town goals... Truth is that maybe I didn't change as much as I think I did. Maybe I just accepted who I was... Growing up all along I knew I was odd by the standards of my peers and neighbors. I was always too smart, or I was into nerdy things. I played soccer instead of football. I was more than content to be alone and write a story or read a book... I was always been a little odd, even though I tried very hard to hide it. I wanted to trick everyone into thinking I was just like them, but it never worked. Everyone always sort of knew I was the klutz or the brainiac, etc...
When I went to college that all changed. I met some people who to this day remain my closest friends. They were like me, though a bit cooler. They showed me that I did not have to be ashamed because I was smart or I liked reading. they taught me not to be embarrassed by who I was, because in the end whether you were talking about last night's Cowboy's game or the Empire Strikes Back, people will accept you as long as you do it with confidence, and even if they do not, then they aren't people you should concern yourself about. I realized that I was fooling myself more than anyone.
And this attitude always worked great in the presence of my friends or at my college, but it was never something I could master when back home. Even to this day I have find that though I do not care what people in my town think of me anymore, I am still more likely to shut-down and walkway then try to be the happy confident person I know I can be. Coming home has forced me back into a mold which I no longer fit, and I know that it is noticeable. to my friends and hometown acquaintances I am even odder than before
I know I'm not meant to stay in this small town. No matter how many times I keep returning to it, its not where I am supposed to be. There is more out there for me to do. So to my friends and family at home, I'm the odd one, and I'm fine with that. In fact more often than not I try to wear it like a badge of courage, though I do not always succeed. Sometimes I still find myself trying to pretend, like before. Even all these years later the roles that have been cast for us at home are often hard to escape.
Maybe that is why I was so worried about telling my dad. After all, he is the embodiment of the prior generation. the generation to which my crazy ideas are only a reaffirmation of oddness. My father grew up with a high school education, he worked hard to make something of himself and he supported a family, all the while staying withing 5 miles of where he grew up. he is a person I respect for all that he has done, and maybe he is what I fear is my future. the flip of a coin or the grace of fate I could be him. We certainly are enough alike in most aspects.
Perhaps surprising, or maybe not surprising at all was a certain admittance of envy on my father's part for my plan. I think my father's hopes and desire for something more once very much mirrored my own. I remember in a candid shared moment he once told me that he felt a compulsion to fight in Vietnam and serve his country, a fate he was spared due to the luck of the draft and his young age. It was a not unexpected admittance as I feel the same compulsion when I look to the wars of today. However, where my father had the excuse of luck, I have no excuse but cowardice... The point is I know we share a mind of things, but we are also different.
From my father I inherited my intelligence, my love for the written word, and my temper, but I also have creativity, imagination, and a hole in my heart that I cannot explain. I have spent the better part of my life trying to find what fills that hole, but my searching has been to no avail. Because of that hole, I have never been able to really sit still or even engage in long-term romantic relationships. I have always wondered if this hole was made by my fear of becoming just another person lost in a small town. I suppose that is part of what I am hoping to find out with this half-baked scheme of mine. This trip will either fill that hole or make it worse. I cannot predict which.
As far as my father goes, I must admit I came away with his acceptance of this adventure but I do not know if I really have his approval. I could see his thoughts. What am I going to do for a job? What is this going to do for my possibilities get employment when I get back to the States? What if something goes wrong? What if my plane crashes? What if I am swallowed by a wallaby? I admit these are very good questions... Nor do I have full answers...
Maybe i was nervous about telling him, because in a way this is the ultimate decision that may ensure that I will not grow up to be like him. I think that is sad, in a way. There is nothing wrong with a small town life, like that of my father. I have many good friends in my town and I will miss them all. My father is a strong intelligent man, who has always put the needs of his family first. He can be slow to show emotions, but when you get to understand him you know he cares.
Ironically enough, my conversation with my father was brief, and it ended with us dissecting an old John Wayne movie on AMC. To me there is no better representation of that old ideal of manhood. The cowboy who was slow to show emotion, he was tough and intelligent. The old ideal of what an American was, of what a man was. In many ways I can equate my father to that cowboy, but I know that for better or worse I cannot be that cowboy... but i think that is okay.
