Time

We rode over our fourth railroad track before I had the courage to ask him.

“Dad, what are you most afraid of?”

The words came out of my throat in a high, shaky voice that I myself barely recognized.

I had been wanting to ask him a question, something, anything to mute the perceived horrendous silence between us.

An extremely dark evening sky was the backdrop to our drive home that evening and even though the radio was on and crickets could be heard outside the open windows, the silence between us was screaming.

We were returning home from meeting our family in a town that was known for their railroads and train tracks. Even the restaurant’s, where we had eaten, decorations even paid homage to the town’s nickname “Train City USA”.

I was an early teen standing at a metaphorical fork in the road, not sure where to go. Which direction I would turn at this fork would soon begin to define my dad’s and mine relationship for the next few years.

Often on the TV, I watched dad’s and daughters have a special relationship. One that involved asking deep questions, and the other openly confessing replies, that would ultimately bring both parties together. With soft music in the background, it seemed to create a pretty picture.

I wanted that unity and closeness with my dad. I wanted those moments. I wanted the soft music and the sharing of hearts.

And since I’m being honest, I still want that today.

As I have continued to age, I have begun to realize how very much I am my dad. At first blush, people see my smile and my laugh lines and instantly claim how much I look like my mom. “Why you could be sisters!” they exclaim. And it’s true, I am her but I am also very very much like him.

The lines around my eyes mirror hers, but the eyes themselves are my dad’s. I have his nose, his sensitive skin, his hair and his eyebrows. I have his impatience for being late and his wooing of all people. I even share a few of his freckles and a bit of his temper.   

My dad is one of the most loyal individuals I know. Selflessly so. When he says to you he is going to do something, he is going to do it. He doesn’t commit to everything but when he commits to something, he commits with his entire heart. I do too.

At social occasions, we both make it our mission to make sure everyone else is enjoying themselves. We make sure everyone else feels included, wanted and needed wherever they are. We pride ourselves on being the number one host, even if we ourselves aren’t the ones hosting.

We also love making people laugh, sometimes even in the middle of the most difficult circumstances. Translation: I make people laugh in the middle of funerals. Dad tells them dirty jokes right before they go on stage for a music performance.

Oh, and we’re both extremely sarcastic and sassy. I believe we get it from his own mother. I’m sure there’s a bit of stubbornness in there too, but we’re too stubborn to admit it.

“What do you mean? What am I most afraid of?” he asked. His voice was a mixture of laughter and seriousness. I could tell he wasn’t taking me seriously.

“Like what are you most scared of? Some might say the dark; some might say throwing up… you know… anything…” my voice faltered at the end. The TV shows made it look so easy but here I was practically trembling to even ask one of the million questions I had for him.

My dad talks more than his father, but I have to admit it’s not much. Back then I felt as though I hardly knew him. My friends would rave how awesome my dad was, but to me, he felt like a complete stranger that would surprise me with Pop Tarts every so often, and pull my hair when I was surfing the internet on the family computer.

We were so close when I was little, what happened? Did I do something? Was it because I started wearing bras and had my own personal razor in the shower?

I carried the mystery that is my dad well into high school and early college life. I felt as though this man who gave me my lifeblood and last name was extremely mysterious, one my heart begged me to find out while my head convinced me that if he wanted to be known, he would make the moves to make it so.

I’m careful to use past tense words here, because today, while sure my dad might still not say as many words as I would like him to say, I have learned how truly blessed I am to have him as my dad. My friends were right, he is really awesome. The silences between us that used to be threatening, are now heavily cherished in my heart.  

After a few uncomfortable quiet minutes, he spoke. “I guess I would say time, Ariel…” his voice dropped off, as though deep in thought. Or maybe it was to hear what the announcer was saying on the radio about tomorrow’s weather.

Oh how back then I wanted him to say more. I wanted further detail on what he meant. I wanted to know his feelings on the matter and explanations of what he meant by “time”. Too much time? Not enough time? What?

I never found out.

Even today, I’m still left wondering but I have some guesses of my own.

Now that I’m no longer haunted by teenage hormones and attitudes, I see my dad more clearly than perhaps, I ever have. I always wanted him to be the person he was to everyone else but me.

But he is.

You see, it was me.

It was me that tried to shape him differently. It was me who wanted him to be something he was not. It was me who thought the silences were awkward and the ponytail grabs as annoying.

But these actions weren’t intended to be anything of the sorts. They were intended to be his way of saying “I love you.”

“I love you. I don’t want to miss this. Having you here. Spending time with you. I’m comfortable riding in silence with you. I’m comfortable having you here playing computers while I watch the football game or the evening news. What are you playing on Yahoo games? Is it something I can help you with? I’m trying to enjoy this time before it’s gone. I love you.”

Sometimes people say it out loud, some people say it by pulling your hair and asking “walk much?” when you trip on the sidewalk. My dad falls into the latter category, and I wouldn’t change it for anything.