Dad. Flawed Hero.

Hi Dad,

You know you’ve always been my hero.  As a kid I looked at you with adoring eyes, hung off every word you said and followed every action you took.  You were my big, strong Dad who could do anything and everything.

But all people have flaws Dad, and it has become searingly obvious to me now that it is important to recognise those flaws and see them for what they are – even in heroes.

Especially in heroes.

You never took risks Dad.  You may have dreamed, but I don’t even know what they might have been.  You never chased them.  You plodded slowly along to work every morning, your sore back bent from labour, and watched rockets fly overhead. 

I know you wished you were on some of them because in rare moments you have told me.  Then you would tell me why you weren’t, in a weary voice I took to be wisdom but I now see as sad regret.

I’m sorry Dad.  Sorry I didn’t see through that and encourage you to back yourself.  I was only a little kid.  I didn’t know.

But Jesus Dad, I learned.

I learned to have a dream, then immediately list the reasons why it was silly, irresponsible and too risky to chase.  I learned that if people argue you don’t fight back.  You just suck it up in silence and keep washing the dishes.

 I learned that it is wiser, safer, better to plod carefully along through life, never stirring the pot and never taking a step without knowing where you will land first.

It is not wiser or better Dad.  It is just safer – but what the fuck does that matter when, no matter how fucking safe you stay all through your life, you still die at the end – with nothing done.

Nothing you remember with any brightness anyway.

This outlook has ground against my natural instincts my whole life.  Sure I’ve ridden a few rockets, but they’ve all been small.  When faced with the BIG rides I stood at the departure gate, fretting and hesitating, until it was too late and they were gone.  Even if the destination was unknown when they took off, those rides have gone on to reach the moon, the sun and the stars.

…and I wasn’t on them.

…and now I have my own regrets, just like yours.  I watch those dream rockets soar overhead and wonder what life would be like if I had taken even just one and ridden it to wherever.

Please don’t think this means I don’t love you Dad.  You saved my life when I was burned, you read me stories and you woke me from every nightmare I had as a kid. 

You loved us all, you provided for us and hugged us and did the best you knew for us – I know that.

…but I’m sorry Dad, I’m going to have to start ignoring your advice and your example.  There are rides I need to take.  They scare me shitless and I have no idea where I will go – but that is the whole fucking point. 

Without them I am just a dead man waiting to lie down.

Love you Dad.