I started a new book on the bus ride in this morning, and no sooner should I reach the bottom of page one, do I come across this quote that sums up my sole reason for launching this site in the first place."A son is a promise that time makes to man, the guarantee every father receives that whatever he holds dear will someday be considered foolish, and that the person he loves best in the world will misunderstand him."
- - Ian Caldwell & Dustin Thomason
The Rule of Four
I repeat myself on this site ad-nauseum, but for those of you checking in for the first time I'll make my point one more (most likely not the last) time. My love for writing and dreams of being published set aside, the primary reason for contributing here really goes back to my son, with the hope that when this beloved little boy reaches his inevitable teen angst years, he might in the privacy of his own room, visit this site to read about his dad, and hopefully think to himself, "hey, my dad was pretty cool after all." There are no sordid tales here, no exploits of unbelievable irresponsibility. I could attempt to make them up, but not having lived my life that way, it would most likely come off as just that...made up. Not all of my life is exactly G-rated, however and some of the more "PG-13" / borderline "R" rated stuff may rear its head here one day.
I have often wondered if my dad and I shared the same special bond at one time in our lives that 
my son and I do. I have very few recollections of my youngest years. By the time I had hit High School - if not sooner - my parents seemed to take more of a backseat in my life. I suppose that's inevitable in the lives of most folks, and quite honestly it scares the hell out of me. Will there be a great hole, a bottomless chasm in my soul when my little one reaches that point? There were times during my college years when my dad would half-heartedly attempt to regale me with a tale or two of his carefree and reckless years, probably knowing that I was only half-heartedly paying attention. I was too wrapped up in my own world, which was really beginning to open up before my very eyes to miss even a second of it. Not until the birth of my own son (once we got over the earth shattering shock of having another living, breathing life form invade our once peaceful abode), did I begin to realize what his past meant to him, and how important it must have been for him to want to share it, only to watch it fall upon deaf ears.
my son and I do. I have very few recollections of my youngest years. By the time I had hit High School - if not sooner - my parents seemed to take more of a backseat in my life. I suppose that's inevitable in the lives of most folks, and quite honestly it scares the hell out of me. Will there be a great hole, a bottomless chasm in my soul when my little one reaches that point? There were times during my college years when my dad would half-heartedly attempt to regale me with a tale or two of his carefree and reckless years, probably knowing that I was only half-heartedly paying attention. I was too wrapped up in my own world, which was really beginning to open up before my very eyes to miss even a second of it. Not until the birth of my own son (once we got over the earth shattering shock of having another living, breathing life form invade our once peaceful abode), did I begin to realize what his past meant to him, and how important it must have been for him to want to share it, only to watch it fall upon deaf ears.This past summer as I was writing the tale of a 1987 road trip to the Virginia coast ("Awry: pronounced Orrie?" ca. aug. 2008), I came to the realization that this site is not only dedicated to my son, but to my dad as well, a testament to his past as he tried to convey it to me. There are times now when I think to myself, what I wouldn't give to have that chance now, to have a conversation, to listen, to learn, to get to know him on a deeper level. I really know very little about his past, and many of those who do are either long out of touch, or just simply gone...in 
that final sense. In a way, it almost presents a quandary here. Do I spend some time trying to find those who are left to fill in the blanks, or do I continue moving forward, not unselfishly doing what I love, while trying to leave a footprint of myself for my son, and hopefully his kids.
that final sense. In a way, it almost presents a quandary here. Do I spend some time trying to find those who are left to fill in the blanks, or do I continue moving forward, not unselfishly doing what I love, while trying to leave a footprint of myself for my son, and hopefully his kids.Dare I look that far into the future?
In a post 9/11 world, is there a future that lies so far ahead?
Darker thoughts aside, I choose to plow forward for now, still with the hope that my son will find this place interesting enough to even drop by.
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