Dad's Piece
As the new decade begins, I’ve been finding myself a little reflective. A little older, a little wiser (hopefully) and lot of travel under my belt. Forty-eight states, fifteen countries, five Great Lakes, two oceans…there has been a lot! So…where did this desire to explore begin?
If I sit down and really think about it, the idea of adventure travel or travel in general started at a very early age. Both of my parents loved to travel and used vacations to explore. I can remember being in grade school, going on camping trips and sleeping in the top of our old VW camper with the pop top. The smell of the canvas hammock is still fresh in my memory. It brings my memory to life. The stories of travel to Acadia and Assateague when I was a toddler are part of my history. The hiking and exploring in the mountains of SW Virginia became a part of me. They have become a place of solace as I have gotten older.
As with many things in life, things change. My parents divorced when I entered the seventh grade. A necessary separation for both. However, it didn’t quell the desire to travel, for either of them, even though the family dynamic had changed.
Being an only child, it was tough. I was in a new town, a new state (Pennsylvania) trying to figure things out. My father and I tipped-toed around each other for several years, not knowing what to say or do for much of our conversations. As a young teen, I was angry with him without really knowing the why or what. The key was finding some common ground for the both of us.
We found two: sports and travel. Awkward phone calls were eased by our mutual love of the professional teams from Philadelphia; where I was born. It was common ground where we had a connection. We could go on about the struggles of the Phillies for most of a phone call which gave us both a sense of normalcy. As I look back, it was the bridge we both needed.
Our other common ground was travel. A good portion of my summer was spent visiting him in the mountains of Virginia. He was working hard at building his small business, so I had time to myself, working and hiking on the farm and among the mountains. I travelled to many art festivals with him over the years, but this was his career not necessarily adventure travel. Nevertheless, I was able to see some fantastic state parks, towns and cities up and down the eastern seaboard.
As time passed, he made it a point to plan time for a summer vacation every year we could share. Our common destination for several years was the Outer Banks of North Carolina.
We would camp, fish and enjoy the less crowded, less commercial beaches of Ocracoke and Hatteras. The conversations weren’t particularly memorable, but the time and the place were. We could “just be” along the shore – listening to the Phillies on the radio when the sun went down. ☺
Our adventures would take us on “head boats” out of Morehead City, North Carolina for deep sea fishing. Red snapper, grouper and one big ass amberjack were our quarry over the years. Cleaning and fileting our catch, we’d eat like kings back at our campsite with the roar of the waves providing our soundtrack. The mosquitoes and green-head flies would invade, but no matter. It was simple gratification and connection.
Seemingly, every trip would have a mishap to add to the memories.
One year, during a driving rainstorm, one of the windshield wipers flew right off the camper. Another saw us wake up a small engine mechanic at 2am and bypass the main fuel supply with a weed-eater gas tank because of fuel pump issues – something absolutely insane! We even showed up at the main gate of the Marine Corps Air Station in Cherry Point, North Carolina….in the bright green 1968 VW camper! Previously my father had been stationed here in the 1950s and thought we might take a tour. The soldiers guarding the entrance looked at us like we had ten heads and a car full of clowns, and respectfully declined our entry. Geez! We still bring up these stories almost thirty years later and have a good laugh. That’s the good stuff. The adventure.
The proof of adventure is the fact I still remember the where and the what. It was a special time for me and was a starting point for repairing our relationship. We have travelled together since, but nothing was more impactful than those early trips spent on the shores of the Outer Banks. When there was virtually nothing, there were these trips.
These experiences helped to shape my desire to travel, explore and see what’s out there.
A trip to the “Field of Dreams” in Iowa was a direct result of missing out on our opportunity to “have a catch” when I was younger. A stay at Glacier National Park was facilitated by one of his closest friends from years past. Those trips helped to light a fire which continues to burn.
Now, dad is “rounding third “to use a baseball analogy. Recently he was diagnosed with bladder cancer, but the attitude hasn’t changed, “I’m going to go until I can’t.” The next chapter is a bit of an unknown; it’s a little daunting. We might not be camping in the dunes of North Carolina anymore, but we have our stories, our memories and our connection. Hell, we’ll still travel to Merlefest in 2020 and listen to killer tunes as we have for the last 15+ years or so.
The moral of the story?
Inspiration or adventure comes in many forms, maybe when you don’t even realize it. You can look back into your history and there it is. There were a lot of years when things were uncomfortable, but the travel is what I remember. Thanks, Dad, for doing what you could do to heal our relationship. Thank you for introducing me to the Outer Banks. Thank you for being one of the catalysts for my love of exploration. Thank you for seeing this love of exploration and adventure transfer and become a part of your grandson. I love you.
Jason M
