The man on the pedestal

Heroes, Outer Space, Snake Shit

My dad has been my hero for as long as I can remember.

I remember being 4 years old and him throwing a baseball all the way into outer space and it landing back in our yard. He'd pretend to throw it, hide it behind his back, then 10 seconds later toss it in a direction I wasn't looking and say "look!"

I remember spotting him as he'd do 3 sets of 8 bench presses with 225# at the local gym. I thought he was strongest person on the planet.

He used to tell me that I had an older brother and that he tickled him to death. I admired that. I thought, "That's extremely fucked up but also gangster dad!" He said this in jest and I always laughed.

I thought he was perfect because he was Dad. The smartest. Strongest. Most ethical. Wittiest. Kindest. The mostest of everything.

Except tallest. I never thought he was the tallest.

At some point as I got older I started noticing his character flaws. His humanity. And it was painful for me.

The man I had put on a pedestal my entire life as the ultimate symbol of bravery, strength, and compassion was imperfect.

At first I felt angry at him. If you had asked me why I was angry I wouldn't have known what to say.

I judged him and wished he was still the man on the pedestal.

Underneath my anger and judgement was fear.

If my dad, my hero, didn't have it all figured out, then what the hell was I going to do?

If he didn't have it figured out then who did!?

Reality hit me - my dad was just like me. Trying to figure this life thing out just like everyone else. He was trying to "figure out what he wanted to be when he grew up." He had hopes and dreams like me. Self-doubt like me.

He had a lot more wisdom than I did but was like me nonetheless.

This period of time opened the door for me to realize that no one actually had it all figured out. It taught me that I would have to think for myself.

Taking him off the pedestal was the rite of passage necessary for me to see him as an equal. A beginning through which we have built mutual respect and understanding.

I could see him for his strengths and his challenges:

He was first democratic congressman in his district in 30 years. He stood for what he believed in the face of major adversity. And yet he still had insecurities just like me.

He included every single person at the table in the discussion never leaving anyone out. And yet he still lost his temper sometimes when someone tailed him too closely.

At 55 he had the balls and the skill to cut a backflip off a cliff into freezing cold water. And he still cares about what people think about how he looks.

Seeing him more fully allowed me to see myself more fully.

As I accepted him, I was starting to accept myself.

And ultimately, I realized that although those were character traits of his and experiences he has had, none of those were ever who he really was.

A relevant excerpt from a beautiful poem written by my buddy Wesley.

EXISTING WITHOUT STORY

He was and is now how he always was. He is the product of the sum man-ufacturing of his generation and his experiences. He is unfolding in real time just like you. Like the pastors and the choirs they preach to.

Practice this one thing. Practice shedding this story. Practice ripping the tape and the top off the box you put him in.

He is beside you on the trampoline staring into a sky full of stars.

He is not your Dad.

He is the witness to a thousand moments of your existence. Parades for holidays. Pews and holy days.

He is not your Dad.

Cuts, hurts, and bruises; splinters, knives, and forks.

He is not your Dad.

He left early to get you. He thought about you, late. When you were sleeping.

He is not your Dad.

He questioned his Father too.

But that too fast passed. He saw the story was flawed. He saw there is no gradient, no beginning and end.

A couple other things I want to share with you

I held some incredible lizards and snakes at a friend’s bday party recently

Then one of them took an explosive shit on me

Lastly, I just wrapped up a Soul Searching Adventure in Escalante, UT with this bad ass group of men. The regulators. Thanks for your courage and for your playfulness men.

Peace,

Michael