A First Time for Everything

He was big, burly and heavy on his feet, like an iron shield guarding our family. The strongest person I know, he towers over most. Being brawly and intimidating to people who don’t know him, he has a stern frown and a soft smile, a deep farmer's tan from the hours he spends cutting wood and doing yard work but meticulously ironed grey suit pants and straight Brooks Brothers dress shirts and jackets. He has hammers and nails, saws and screwdrivers, wrenches, and hatchets, but works with people and computers. He casually coaches us from lacrosse to hockey and all in between, but methodically constructs cultured sentences presented to important people every day. He helps with seventh grade math, but works with pie charts and statistics that are puzzling to others. His presence brings safety and protection like having a military squad protecting your family.

I remember laughing until my stomach hurt when he swung me around our family room, I remember how he used to walk around the house with his old guitar, playing Dave Mathews songs and singing his heart out. I remember when it was just my dad, brother, and I and he would have to cook us grilled cheese because he didn’t know how to cook anything else. I remember when he used to play knee hockey and let me win every time. I remember when he used to crawl around the house, with me screaming and giggling on his back. I have great memories from my childhood. I remember the smiles and laughs most of all, but I also remember the tears.

I remember the first and only time I ever saw my dad cry, 7-years-old and eating my grilled cheese, when the phone rang and my dad jumped up to answer it. I remember taking a bite of my lunch while my dad slowly turned his back to me and reached for our café tabletop. I remember how he turned so the sunlight barley reached his face, how it became masked with shadows and then how I saw a single tear fall from his eye. I remember the few minutes when everything was silent, how the room was so cramped with emotion, how I was holding my breath waiting for what was to come. He then told me that if I needed him he’d be outside. I remember not understanding what just happened and immediately trying to focus back on my delicious grilled cheese, trying to take away as much attention from the moment as possible. I felt hotness flooding up to my checks. I felt like I was dropping from 100ft and my stomach was all the way in my chest. I felt anxious and nervous, I felt helpless and trapped, and all I wanted to do was help my dad but as soon as it happened, it ended.

Of course, I didn’t comprehend what had happened and I just brushed it off. I think deep down I knew something must have been wrong, but being so young and simple, everything was either black or white, up or down, left or right, wrong or right. My dad had always been the one who wiped away my tears, not vice versa. I was so innocently young that I pretended it didn’t happen.

Many years later. I finally found out what happened that day. My dad’s Great-Grandfather had died. They were close, they both learned so much from each other, and us living hundreds of miles away separated my father from his family. My dad still talks about him and his wife’s pies, and how they were the most delicious things on Earth. At 7-years-old I may not have understood what had happened, but it’s always stayed with me. I never dwelled or pondered what had happened until later on. I will always remember that day, all the minutes that lead up to it and all the minutes after.

I saw for the first time my dad in his most vulnerable state. I had seen him happy, stressed, mad, but never crying. I imagined my dad as indestructible, which to me meant my dad would never cry. To me, he could protect me from anything. He would be the one to push me to my fullest. He wanted me to succeed, and he wanted me to always be happy. He would tell me to skate it off and keep going until I get it, to put a band aid on the bleeding wound and start again. He whipped away my tears and told me that I could do it. He had taught me to have thick skin, and I do because I watched him be strong and persevere. As I’ve grown older, I’ve become tougher and pushed through situations because I wanted my dad to see me being strong. But I also cry sometimes and I know it’s okay because everyone’s allowed to cry sometimes. I realize now that without all the sad experiences the amazing ones wouldn’t be as amazing, that without bad you will never see the good. I think that we need to appreciate all the time we have with the people we love. I think we need to appreciate all the moments that we make and never take anything for granted.