Memories

Lake Powell

I remember summers with my dad and brother, visiting Lake Powell on the Arizona/Utah border. It is one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen.

If you've never been there, or seen pictures, it's a little like the Grand Canyon, half-filled with water. Etched in my memories are the unbelievable hues of red rock, in cliffs rising hundreds of feet from the deep blue water.

Our first visit there was with my grandparents for an evening dinner cruise. It was enough to make us want more.

So the following year, we went for three days and nights, renting a houseboat (which is the way to do it). Actually, if you have the money, it would help to also have a smaller boat to go ahead to scout for good beaches to dock the boat overnight. Cruising the lake in the day, anchoring in the evenings in a canyon, and just enjoying all the beauty Lake Powell has to offer, remains my favorite vacations of all time.

I was sixteen on the first trip, and Dad took us there for Stuart's graduation present. It was awesome. But it was our second trip, for my graduation present that I remember the most.

My brother has always been an inspiration to me. Without him, I would have been fat and lazy, and never wanted to do anything. In fact, I probably would have just enjoyed the lake from the deck of our boat. Instead, Stuart "dragged me along" on some adventures. On a couple of occasions we went hiking up the sandstone hills in one of the canyons we overnighted in.

On one of the hikes, as we began the climb, we found a brand new, unopened package of nylon rope. Obviously someone had dropped it, so we left it there, thinking someone might come back looking for it. I'm not sure how high we had climbed, but Stu (being the more adventurous one), went into an area I wasn't sure I wanted to try. I saw him climb over a steep area, and just sat, enjoying the view. Maybe two hundred feet below us, our houseboat looked like a toy. I'm sure dad was inside, enjoying some peace and quiet, which would be lost a little later. But more on that in a bit.

After a few minutes, Stuart called me, telling me he thought he was stuck. Not much I could do about it from where I was. If he had gotten stuck, there was no way I could have helped him out. He said below him was a 150 drop, and ahead of him was more than a 90 degree slope, with no way to climb. Somehow, he had made his way into a little bowl of sorts, and couldn't get out.

Thank you, God, for leaving a brand new package of rope for us to use. I climbed back down, found the rope, and headed back up. It's a miracle of sorts that I found him, also. The hills were red sandstone, and very little difference between one spot and the next. I marked nothing on the way down, and my ability to find my way around wasn't the keenest in the world. But I managed to get close enough for us to yell to each other as a way of finding out where he was, and where I needed to be.

I found a spot above him, and found a little alcove where I could tie the rope around my waist, and wedge myself in as an anchor. Tossing the other end of the rope blindly down the hill, it came close enough for him to grab. After a few moments of minor rope burn, he had climbed his way out, and we were ready to head back to the houseboat for dinner. Without the miracle rope, there's no telling what would have happened.

"Wow...what a coincidence."

I think not.

On our way back down to the boat, we discovered what had been a minor nuisance was now a major issue. A huge yacht came down the channel, causing quite a large wake. Our cute little houseboat, which we had anchored to rock, was being slammed against the rocks with the waves. From what had to be close to 100 feet up, we could hear dad yelling inside the houseboat.

I've never tried to fix a spaghetti dinner on a storm in the high seas, but that's what it must have felt like to Dad. By the time we got there, most of it was cleaned up, and the steam coming off his angry forehead was beginning to subside. (Hence the suggestion of having another boat along to scout for better overnight areas).

The next night, Stu suggested we (he and I, not Dad), sleep up on the top of the houseboat. What an awesome idea! So we grabbed our sleeping bags, and went up top at dusk. We were 200 feet or so below the top of one of the cliffs, and at one point, Stuart thought he saw something. He always had excellent eyesight, and I knew I didn't, but after a few times of, "Right there," I thought I saw something, too.

"Maybe it's a mountain lion," he offered.

Okay, because that's not going to make me worry at all. Unfounded? Maybe. But it was enough for me to think about an hungry cougar, deciding we were an easy meal. And here we both were, lying on top of the houseboat, with nothing between us and the angry cat but our sleeping bags.

After a few more minutes, something swooped by Stu's head. It was getting fairly dark, but we knew it had to be birds, coming for the bugs that were flying around. But it was coming within a foot or so. We wrapped ourselves in our bags, with just our faces sticking out so we could talk to each other.  Soon there were two of the small birds..then three..four...

As I peeked out from my sleeping bag, I caught the silhouette of one in the moonlight, and discovered they weren't birds at all. So I calmly informed my brother of my discovery.

"THOSE ARE BATS!!"

We decided it might be a better idea if we slept inside for the night.

I was always thankful for Stuart's leadership and protection. As long as he was with me, I felt safe. I knew he would protect me. So in his wonderful, protective leadership, he looked at me.

"You first."

So I reasoned that bats use their echolocation to avoid running into obstacles. It made sense that if I just jumped up, and made a bunch of racket, they wouldn't bother me. So that's exactly what I did.

I'm not sure if you heard it or not, but I'm guessing campers in canyons miles away heard what happened next.

I jumped up, and began waving my arms, making as much movement and noise as I possibly could. Stu did likewise.

From inside the houseboat, Dad, whose nerves had already been tested that evening, gave a war cry that no doubt sent shivers down the remains of Attila’s spine.

"SHUT UP! I'M TRYING TO SLEEP!!"

We calmly replied, "WE'RE BEING ATTACKED BY BATS!!"

I'm not sure how he answered, but I'm don't think he quite understand the gravity of the situation. Then again, we weren't thinking of what it might sound like to have two teenage boys jumping on the aluminum ceiling right above where you're trying to sleep.

I've never been kicked out of a lake before, but I would bet if there were park officials around, we would have been escorted off the premises.

That's the last time I've been there. I would love to have a "for old time's sake" trip with Dad and Stu, but I'm not sure Dad's up for it again. I always said I would go back with my son. I've often told my wife I want to take her there so she can appreciate it. But maybe it's just that...memories to look back on.

The first time I saw the Grand Canyon in person, I was actually disappointed. I had heard so much about it, I don't think there is any way it could have lived up to the expectation.

If I never see it again, Powell will forever live with me, and remind me of wonderful times, set in one of the most beautiful places on Earth, spent with two people who could never be replaced. Thank you, Nana and Daddad, for introducing us to Lake Powell. Thank you, Dad for putting up so much money to give us memories that will never die. Thank you, Stuart, for helping make the memories extra special.

Father's Day 2012

So this is Father's Day weekend.

And once again, this year finds me without a card to send to my dad. Not because I don't love him or appreciate all he did for me through the years. June is one of our busiest months at work, and I'm just not good at thinking of those kinds of things. Thank you to my wife who normally remembers things like that for me. But with our daughter getting married in July, things have been hectic in her mind as well.

Sorry, Dad. I'll call you on Sunday...if I remember. :-)

So I've been thinking about my dad a lot more in the recent years than I used to. He's had the short end of the stick most of my life. His birthday is December 16th (or maybe the 17th). And before you roll your eyes at me, (if I remember the facts correctly), he was born on the 17th, but chooses the 16th...or vice-versa. But as it was always two weeks before Christmas, his birthday has never really been celebrated. Since he now lives in Sanderson (9 hours away), we only see him two, maybe three times a year. So his birthday gets "celebrated" at Christmas.

I remember a lot of things from growing up with Dad. Being 46 now, I know he always had a lot of things going on. But I remember asking him to throw the ball with me in the backyard. There were probably times when he told me no, but I don't remember any.

I remember when the first Star Wars came out, he took my brother and I to the movies to see it. I was 11 at the time. The theater was sold out, so he let me sit in his lap. I've never been a big person, but I can't imagine it was comfortable for him.

I remember playing with matches in the laundry room with a girl named Sloan. Dad caught us, and picked me up with one hand, while swatting my bottom with the other. I was (maybe) five at the time? It was a valuable lesson. Never play with matches in the laundry room.

I remember countless air shows he took me too. Granted, that was as much for him as it was for us, but it was always fun.

I remember the old Southwest Airport that used to sit on the land at 360 and 183 in Arlington. It's now American Airlines headquarters, and warehouses. He used to take us there occasionally. There was a B-36 sitting out there that we got to climb in. It was a blast. It has since been moved to the Southwest Aerospace Museum, which isn't there anymore, and who knows where from there.

I remember several trips to Pate Museum of Transportation. You can read about that in another of my blogs. It's closed now, which is really sad. Again, that was as much for him as it was for us, but there's no way he had as much fun as my brother and I. Several tanks you could climb in, a hangar full of old cars and planes, and several sitting out on the grounds outside. It was great.

I remember collecting aluminum cans for money. Dad would take us out to the country (what is now South Arlington), and we would sit on the fenders as Dad drove us down country roads. We hopped off to grab cans and hopped back on. GASP!! I heard you..."How incredibly dangerous!" I know...and we didn't wear seatbelts back then. And we rode our bikes without helmets. Dad has always loved to drive, so I'm sure it was a peaceful afternoon for him. That in itself was something of a rarity, so he probably enjoyed it. Again, no way he enjoyed it as much as we did. After a few times of collecting cans, he would take us to turn in our trash bags full to get maybe $17 dollars for our several hours of "hard work". Kids, make a note of that.

I remember him taking us to Chuck-E-Cheese for lunch or dinner. I seriously doubt he enjoyed any of that. It wasn't as noisy as it is now, but still not much of a place I think he would enjoy. But he never complained.

I remember a lesson he taught me without really even trying. He went to Safeway (a grocery store for those of you who weren't around back then...), and bought a few things. He got back home, and discovered he had a potato in his coat pocket. WAY back in those days, the potato probably wasn't more than $.25 or so. And it's not like they were ever going to miss it. But he drove all the way back up there to pay for it. I couldn't have been that old, and I vaguely remember asking why he was going to go back up there. "Because I didn't pay for it, and it would be wrong." I still remember that vividly.

I remember vacations during the summer. Stuart, Dad and I would take two weeks to drive all over the west. We spent some time visiting relatives, but most of the time, it was just the three of us. National Parks, monuments, and Lake Powell a few times. Some of the best memories I ever had were from those trips. I know he enjoyed them. But I also think about the hassles of motel reservations, restaurants, gas stations, blah, blah, blah.

There were times Dad got mad at me (lighting matches in the laundry room...). There were times he spanked me so hard, I thought I'd never sit again. But in all the years, of all my shenanigans, and all the lessons he had to teach me, I NEVER worried that he didn't love me.

Stuart came up with the grand idea of making a clubhouse in the backyard when we were teenagers. It was going to be awesome. We would dig a hole, ten feet by ten feet, and four feet deep. We would make bricks from the mud and grass we dug up, and make walls around the top with that. It was a great plan, except that I grew tired of digging when I realized we weren't going to be able to finish it in a weekend. Stu eventually gave up trying to get me to do my part, and we were left with a ten foot by ten foot, two to three foot deep natural swimming pool (a.k.a. mud puddle) in the middle of the back yard. I'm sure Dad didn't appreciate it much, but I don't remember him complaining about that, either.

That's another lesson he taught me that I never really felt I was learning. Not a lot really bothers me. I get aggravated and frustrated by things. But overall, I tend to just accept that it's all going to work out somehow.

As I grow older, I realize I'm a lot more like my dad than I ever thought I would be. And the older I get, the more I realize, I could have turned out a lot worse.

So thank you, Dad. Thank you for the time you spent, letting me hurl my out of control fastball at you when you probably would rather have stayed in the air conditioning, watching television.

Thank you for the lessons you taught me.

Thank you for the countless hours spent driving us around so we could earn a little money to blow on baseball cards and candy bars.

Thank you for the wonderful vacations when you probably had counted the cost, and wondered how you were going to do it.

Thank you for teaching me that there really aren't a lot of things worth getting bent out of shape for.

Thank you for always being there; for loving us; for helping us through some pretty tough times.

Thank you for being Dad.

I love you.