Those Morning Routines

Growing up my dad was the one - most of the time - that would get me and my siblings to school in the morning.  From the time I was in elementary school and we had to catch the school bus in our neighborhood with the rest of the neighborhood kids, to middle school and high school with early morning zero period call times, my dad would drive us the five minuets to school.  As anyone might imagine, most mornings were the same and not many truly stick out in my mind.  Yet there are some moments or quirks of my dad I do look back on and can indeed recall.

First, I gotta say no child is ever a natural born "morning person," and was the case for my siblings and I! My dad though - having plenty of years of practice waking up early and brewing his cup of Joe - was well adjusted to the task. Matter of fact, come to think of it, my mom always had a rough time waking up in the morning; which now makes sense that my dad took that role of morning Sargent.

It always started like clock work: 5:30a.m. would roll around and was the time my dad would flick our bedroom lights on and tell us all in bunk-beds to raise and shine.  Always protesting that 5:30a.m was far too early, us kids would say 30 more minuets; 20 more minutes; 5 more minutes.  After each snooze, he'd come back progressively more aggressive; and those aggressive snooze alarms might be flickering of our bedroom lights as he'd make his voice just a little louder as he'd bellow "raise and shine;" or he'd come in banging pots and pans; maybe (if he was feeling mischievous) he'd put ice cubs in our beds, on our necks, down our pajamas; my favorite was when he BLASTED and I really mean blasted the classic William Tell Overture. Lemme tell you: no pillow can muffle the sound of that symphony; so we always resigned to roll outta bed with our groggy faces, and bed head hair.

I'll never forget how he'd walk us the 5 blocks to our bus stop: bare foot, and half dressed for work; the slacks would be on, but a t-shirt would often be substituted for the button down and tie, hair might be combed.  My best memory - now in retrospect - of those morning walking to the bus stop was the morning my dad stood up for my older sister and me.
Just to give a bit of background information: my family and I don't have an ounce of olive skin blood; we are half Irish and the rest is northern European.  So that tells you we burn fairly easily and at best we get freckles.  Living in Orange County where olive and tan skin is considered a desirable trait, we were kind of the black sheep (well conversely actually) when in came down to this feature.  Walking home after school, after the bus would drop us off in the afternoon at the same morning spot we'd have some of the older kids pick on us and call us names like "Casper the Friendly Ghost;" or taunt us to "get a tan." Being 9 and 10 years old and never experiencing any level of bullying I did what most kids did at that age and in those days: I didn't respond and tried to ignore the teasing.  Well, it got to a point where my sister and I vented to my parents about it.
Well...my dad sure had something to say about the teasing and taunting.  One of those morning - barefoot and disheveled hair - my dad walked us to the bus stop, waited for us and all the other kids to get on the bus, and proceeded to ask the bus driver if he could address all of us grade school kiddos.  His little speech made me slouch in my bus seat...
"Can I get your attention please.  It's my understanding that there are some of you kids that are teasing and taunting my children; calling them Casper and such.  I'll have you know that, that is bullying, and if you continue this behavior, I will take it up with the schools principal and have those of you expelled!"  He thanked the bus driver, proceeded off the bus, and I could feel the tension in the bus increase by 10! Literally it was one of the moments I could feel everyone's eyes on the back of my neck.  As the bus door closed shut and before we drove off, my childhood friend Steven, yelled some antagonistic comedic remark to myself and all to hear.  He was good at cracking jokes in the middle of tension - he was our class clown after all.

Other morning memories - not as memorable - surely stick out in my mind.  Like all the times my dad (especially when we'd be running late) would slow down at a green light after driving a motorcycle for years and being conditioned to anticipate cars cutting him off. There was the time, my dad ran a red light, from a full on stop.  Or the time in junior high when I talked to my dad for the first time about a boyish crush, and he told me to be myself, and that the best kind of relationships - and loves for that matter - come from friendships.

It was a simple morning routine, being woken up by my dad, and spending that time with him; be it the morning walk to the bus stop as a shy girl who wore over-sized clothes, or a preteen or teenager who enjoyed the occasional conversation or mishap in the morning with my dad.  It's a routine I took for granted; a routine I would relive in a heartbeat (even if in a fleeting dream); a routine I often think about and rewind in my head on my own - now - morning routines.

Flying the Coop

"If you love someone, set them free.  If they return they are yours." 

~ Unknown

Parents have their own way of dealing with their children growing into adults and ultimately moving out for the first time.  Never having the experience myself, I don't pretend to know what that must be like, but I can recount how my dad reacted to that fact some seven years ago when I moved away for college.

Not having a clue what I wanted to pursue after high school, I decided the best step was to figure it out through community college and not waste time and or money through University level priced tuition.  It was the year 2007 and I was finishing up my associates degree at Fullerton College, when the decision deadline was coming down to the wire.  I had been accepted to the three state schools I applied to: CSUF, CSULB, or SFSU.  The question of the hour though was, do I stay local and stay safe, or do I go out on a limb, take a risk and move up to the metropolis of San Francisco to finish my BA?

Knowing what my folks wanted me to choose, I decided (intentionally) not to talk to them about my decision.  This was going to be my decision; I had to live with the decision; so I sure as hell wasn't going have a skewed conversation pressure me any one way.  Looking back, I think I knew - really all along - what my decision would be; I just waited until the last day to finally put in my intent to register to San Francisco State University!

And I'll never forget my parents' reaction.  I'm sitting at the family computer in a fairly common area in our house, taking care of the task at hand, when my mom chimes in from the other end of the common area:
"Whatcha doing over there.?"
"Umm...taking care of some school business..."  Vague answer, I know.
"What kind of school business?"
"Umm...well I'm putting in my intent to register for the school of my choice."
My mom's interest and attention perks up noticeably.
"Oh yea?!  What school is that?!"
"Umm...(as I hesitate)...San Francisco State University."
"WHAT?!?!"

The conversation from there really is a blur of shock, surprise and a bit of 20 questions on logistics.  The following morning I went about my day as usual: class, work, etc when I recall having a missed call and voice-mail from none other than my dad.  Something to keep in mind: my dad never called me from work, unless it was an emergency, or tax related (as he did my tax return from the time I had a job).  As I listened to my dad's voice, the tone was very stern, very urgent, very shocked, but also very concerned.  The conversation I later had with him and my mother was a lot of...
"I thought you were going to stay local..."
"Why do you wanna move so far away???"
"Why didn't you discuss this decision with us before hand???" 
"Have you thought of the cost of living up there?!" 
"You know your mother and I are only paying for your tuition; which means you have to find a way to pay for books and the cost of living."
"Have you been looking into living arrangements??" 

All this was said with an undertone of...why didn't you choose Long Beach or Fullerton, it would've made more sense.. 

Obviously, I stuck with my initial decision, and that summer of 2007 leading up to my first fall semester living in the city by the bay, was quite a whirl wind of weekend road trips that included new student orientations; checking out the lay of the campus as well as the city, and not to mention meeting some distant family for the first time who are not too far from the cable car streets of SF; scouring craigslist for a place to live followed by some interesting encounters by some eclectic potential housemates and landlords.

Alls well that ended well though.  Two weeks before classes began I was moved into a house living with three other students whom all of us jived well together; I had a student loan to supplement my cost of living; I was on the job hunt; and I was completely and blissfully unaware of how much the next three years ahead were going to challenge, break, shape, and redefine me.  Arguably, those years were some of the best years of my life as I grew into myself, in a city that I truly learned to love.

Through all the tasks of preparation; road trips; and follow ups on paperwork and registration for classes my dad never said much more on the topic of my decision to move away for college.  Although, he did sometimes comment on San Francisco's "backwards politics," which he and I later often bantered back and forth on, as I began to rethink some of my own political opinions.  "San Francisco ruined you," he'd like to say to me with a playful smile.
But I digress.  He was a quite and strong presence though as he would frequently keep me on point to take care of business; even when I was lost in the process or overwhelmed, he was there to kick me in the pants. He had this saying that he'd like to often repeat to me; be it to me, or in reference to someone else...

"You're an adult.  I've done my part to raise you. As an adult, you have decisions to make, and they are your decisions alone; I can't make them for you; and it's you who have to live with the decisions; not me.  So while, I might not always agree or understand some of your choices, it's your life not mine.  And unless these decisions are harmful to you, I'm going to keep my opinion to myself."  

And he did!  I imagine it was a hard realization that his daughter was not just moving out of the house, but moving a distance away (like most things, he kept his emotions close to his chest), nonetheless he was there helping me prepare for that next chapter in my life; he was there helping me prepare for that defining decision.  Regardless if he agreed or understood my need to move away for college; regardless of the fact that it probably broke his heart to see his daughter fly the coop, he was there, supportive of the decision. And that kind of reaction - while sometimes convoluted - was and is love!  He let me go; he set me free; and you know...I came back to him, and for him.