In memory of my dad who passed away on June 14.
If you know only one thing about my Dad, my best guess is that you know of his love of riding his motorcycle—a passion he passed on to my brother and me.
What you may not know, however, is that some seventeen or so years ago, my dad took my family on an epic motorcycle ride.
He got on his Harley in Beachwood, New Jersey, riding to our home in Colorado Springs, where JT who was about 12 at the time, got on the back of my dad’s bike, I got on my Honda, and Diane and Kristi followed in our car to visit my brother Ron in California. Several years later, JT would repeat the trip with my Dad, a memory I know he cherishes.
That trip holds many memories for me that have been in my thoughts quite a bit over the past few days. We rode our motorcycles thru Zion National Park, to the Grand Canyon, through the heat of Death Valley and some of the coldest rain I’ve ever felt in the Ute Pass in the Rocky Mountains. We got separated for a minute in Las Vegas–I’m still not sure how–I ran out of gas in Colorado, and one day we stopped to eat at a diner that was standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona.
But my favorite image from the trip is a photo that hung on the wall of my office for years (and is posted above). We were stopped at a light somewhere on Route 66 when Diane took the picture from the car. Kristi is behind me, and JT is behind my Dad, who is talking to me with a giant smile on his face. Probably telling me the plan for the next few miles and loving every minute of it.
I like that picture because in addition to the memories, that trip serves as a metaphor for me. For those 2-plus weeks, I rode behind my Dad for hundreds of miles—following his lead as he showed me the way—as he did in so many aspects of my life before and after that trip.
Teacher and leader
My dad liked to teach. He shared some memorable aphorisms, like:
- You go to Hell for lying, same as you do for stealing — a theological truth I didn’t recognize the veracity of until seminary.
- The job isn’t over until the tools are put away — another piece of advice I think about quite a bit.
- And one he said to me one day as I was working on my bicycle: Rome wasn’t built with an adjustable wrench — his version of ‘the right tool for the right job.’ And if you’ve ever seen my dad’s garage, you know he had the right tool but I hadn’t taken the time to look for it.
But more often than not, the lessons he taught were by example. Those have been much more lasting. For example,
- He tried to do the right thing, even when it was the hard thing.
- The hardworking soul that he was, he made time to coach Little League, and this strange new sport called soccer that he had to read books and watch VHS tapes about to understand enough to be the assistant coach.
- He modeled church for us—going every Sunday—even if he got to stay in the narthex with the ushers, which always seemed cool to us.
- And just this past week, I heard that even with Alzheimer’s my dad’s love for my mom, and her love and dedication to him made an amazing impression on the staff caring for him in the nursing home.
Finding our way
Another one of those examples was during that motorcycle trip. At one point of the trip we came to an intersection and weren’t 100% sure how to stay on Route 66. I was ready to give up, get on the interstate that we could see, and make up some time. I’m so glad Dad didn’t agree.
Thru a process of elimination, we decided Route 66 had to be this way—or at least it was worth taking the time to find out. I’m so glad he encouraged us to do that.
That switchback-filled stretch of highway was one of the most memorable of the trip, ending in historic Oatman, Arizona, where there were donkeys in the road. If he would have listened to me, we would have had a more pedestrian day, and not one of the best of the trip.
Talking about that decision to continue looking for the right route—it might have been that night or years after—Dad said something like, “You can get on the highway and get there. Or you can find Route 66 and enjoy the ride.” Metaphor.Rough roads
Over the last few years, as my dad’s illness progressed—it was a living Hell for my mom and dad. The ride was really hard as so much was taken, so slowly. Alzheimer’s sucks.
But today, I’m choosing to remember the better parts of the ride, grateful for my dad who was always leading the way, mile after mile. Because the truth is that life can be hard, it’s sometimes a little dangerous, and it goes by incredibly fast.
So maybe I need to keep following his lead—take the time to find Route 66 and enjoy the ride.