Have a "great" Xmas week, guys.
-JON
My best memories of my dad are ones that are completely devoid of religion, with stunning views of nature in the backdrop. One summer afternoon when i was 15, he respectively peered in me and my brother's rooms, very spontaneously, and said
"Hey, pack your sleeping bag and some clothes."
I was intrigued at worst and fascinated at best. 25 minutes later we were in a Safeway getting a flat of $6 crappy ribs from the heatlamp deli, a bunch of granola bars and some drinks.
And then we hit the road. He told me on the way that we were going to Half Moon Bay. One of the regrets I have is that we never did figure out how to fish. I feel like my dad would be a pretty good fisherman, judging by his character.
When we reached the lighthouse hostel off Highway 1 just before a soupy mirky dusk, the ocean air was brisk, and the waves were angry about something or other. I dunno, nature politics. But i'll never forget how calm my dad was. This was his Zen. He was an upside down shark and he was a grain of salt in a mountain of sand, relaxed and happy. He was in rare, rare form.
We reached our hostel room, we busted out those janky Safeway ribs and ate them together. He even brought along a portable black and white miniTV so that we could watch Home Improvement reruns together. He never really struck up a conversation worth remember of any sort. It was just a quiet hum of the dingy cabin, accompanying the quiet roar of the Pacific just outside our window.
The next morning, we went and explored the lighthouse grounds. I don't remember much of it, but i do remember looking at my Dad and seeing a look in his face i cant remember seeing again. he achieved an inner peace that he had desperately wanted.
He was far away from home, from his office, from his church, and he was at the lighthouse in Half Moon Bay with his sons.