Reconnoitering the SeaWorld shop where my son would in a few days start his first job, I lock eyes with a gentleman in his sixties standing a couple feet from me. He grins a big grin, I grin back. He says hi. I say hi back. He's a little different. More eager, more friendly than typical. Looking closer, he's dressed a little haphazardly. We small talk enthusiastically. I walk forward, chatting, to follow Dash who is a couple steps ahead.
Ahh, he's - I don't know the most appropriate term now - "differently-abled"? Needing guardianship? That explains the very friendly. I talk next to his friend by his side. Ask how he's doing. They are a group of six or seven. They are enjoying their stay.
I talk to someone with them but off to the side a bit. Seems in charge. "Where are you from?'' "Bellweather." Where? "Bellweather." "Where is that?" "Out of town." I can't make this guy out, so I just give a hearty "Well, welcome!" and turn to catch up with Dash, who is watching.
I hear behind me "Well, he was nice!"
Dash is socially "aloof". Working retail at a theme park will be a new experience for him; it should be really beneficial. "You're going to be interacting with so many people, you won't have time to worry about 'cringe'."
"So, Dash. I didn't quite understand the last part there, but the important thing is to be welcoming."
After settling down to sleep, I revisited that interaction.
I remember his eyes and his eagerness. I am happy that I replied enthusiastically. What if I hadn't? How many people step back (emotionally, at least) rather than engage? Does that tiny rejection hurt? Just for an instant?
Then I thought about the immediate and long-term vulnerability of interacting with the world without the common emotional walls. Are the continual pullaways embittering? This group made it through sixty-plus years with good attitudes.
Then I wondered about the vulnerability of being different in an indifferent world AND having an elevated reliance on individual and structural kindness to get by.
How hard it must be. Or is it? Is that just me projecting my reactive defensive self-reliance?
I don't know. But I am happy that I was kind and that I added a bit of happiness to a day they were already enjoying.
I spent some moments being thankful that these gentlemen seemed well taken care of; thankful that that have joy in their lives.
And I was thankful that my predilection for being friendly had some tangible benefits. How did I get this way? Church?
Dash will often say "Dad, you know what your problem is?" "Please tell me, son" "You have a constant need for people's approval." "You may be right," I grin, "but you don't have to be mean about it." (I now think it's less a need for approval, but a longing to connect.)
My dad passed away over twenty years ago. My memories of him fade, the emotions weaken. He's my dad, my hero. Always will be. But he's so abstract, so vague now.
I'm approaching his age, I judge him increasingly like a peer. His shortcomings are clearer, though I recognize them without blame. He built empires, but lost them. He was all about family, but left his wife struggling. He loved me but didn't necessarily protect me. He loved us all very much, but was emotionally inarticulate.
What was his legacy? He built offices and houses and neighborhoods. What was his legacy to us? He provided, he guided. "Make sure you have a job so that you can eat." Depression baby. I know he loved me - very much. He liked to tease. I like that.
I do remember him always flirting with cashiers. I definitely remember him flirting with girls I brought by the house. I always assumed it was mainly the girls. I don't really remember how he was with the guys. It's possible he was universally friendly and I only noticed him with the girls. I absolutely know he never expressed prejudice and never said disparaging words, but I don't know that he was universally compassionate. He certainly was not eloquent or explicit talking about compassion. He might have simply lived it; I don't remember. I wish I did.
I don't like this increasing awareness of his vulnerabilities while losing the feel of him. My cat jolts me more viscerally than my dad (granted, he is a top-notch cat).
His kindness may or may not have been a conscious intent. It may or may not have been a top priority. It certainly was not something that was showy, flashy, or performative in any way. My instincts may be as much a coping mechanism to some of the turmoil in my upbringing or a reaction to the isolation of so many years of remote home-office work.
I don't know.
But when I thought of him last night, four days after twenty-four Father's Days without him - another, where I couldn't feel him - when I thought that my instinct to kindness may be attributable to him - perhaps his most important legacy - I had a hard ugly cry. And I was thankful to feel him again.
Thank you, Dad. You formed me. I miss you and I miss missing you. Thank you for the good in me.