Fifty-Nine

When I was about 6 or 7 years old, my family was living in South Korea.  My brother and I were playing with friends in our condo complex.  We discovered a game that would test our agility and ultimately the size of our balls.  Being the only girl playing, the size of my balls was in significant question.  There were these gates that entered into the courtyards of each building.  Over the tops of those gates was a concrete, rectangle “roof.”  As kids do, we climbed on top of the roof.  The next roof was about a five foot leap.  The goal:  Jump to as many as you could before you chickened out.  My brother, the Cirque du Soleil acrobat and athletic beast, tackled the leaps with ease.  Therefore, I gained a false sense of confidence.  If he can do it, so can I!

The first leap was a massive success.  It didn’t matter that my stomach was in my nose.  I was terrified.  I was getting more and more nervous as the next roof was staring at me.  Mocking my tiny, tiny balls.  The boys below (which was about six feet) were taunting me and egging me on.  I thought a running start was a good plan to attack this next jump.  I gave myself four good pushing steps and leapt.

I woke up in my father’s arms.  He was running up a street I didn’t recognize.  I distinctly remember the smell of his BDU’s as my face was cradled against his chest.  His breathing was fast and frantic.  I looked up at his face and saw for the first time, fear.  I had no idea what had happened.  He felt me moving and looked down at me.  His pace never slowing, he smiled as he acknowledged that I was awake and somewhat alert.  Sitting next to me at the emergency room, he told me that I had missed the jump and landed flat on my back.  I had been knocked out for about 5 minutes.  My mother couldn’t wake me.  Fortunately, my father had arrived home from work just in time to rush me off to the hospital.

We didn’t have a car.  The walk/run was about 10 minutes.  He made it there in less than eight.  The doc cleared me to go home and recommended that I not try to make such attempts again in the future.  My mother was relieved to find that I was fine and hadn’t sustained even as much as a concussion.  This is the first memory I have of feeling protected by my dad.

When I was ten years old, a friend’s father hurt me.  I ran home.  My father was in the field doing army stuff.  My mom was beside herself.  Cops were called.  Someone was sent to get my dad home.  I watched as the man was arrested and put into the back of a squad car.  I have vague memories of the conversation my mom and dad had with the police officers.  But, I will never forget hearing the words my dad said.  “If I see that man, I will kill him.”  The police handled my father and calmed him down and assured him that there would not be any chance of paths crossing. 

Again, my dad cradled me in his lap and pressed my face against his chest.  I felt his breathing and heartbeat.  Both were so fast and violent, it made my face hot.  My father asked me repeatedly if I was ok.  The significance of the incident had not yet manifested itself.  I was in shock over it and further rocked by seeing my parents in the state they were in.  That situation could have been a much more damaging experience had I not felt the tremendous protection from my dad.

Fast-forward about 18 years and I’m grieving the loss of my son.  My father, who had shown such valor for me in the past, was absent.  He wasn’t talking to me at all.  In fact, he was all out avoiding me.  I allowed that to go on for about three weeks before I jumped on him for abandoning me.  He sat quietly as I yelled at him and told him he was being a bad father and that all I needed from him was for him to hold me in his lap and protect me.  He couldn’t do that from the distance he was, but the phone calls would have sufficed had he made the efforts.  He patiently waited for my speech to end before he responded.

“Emma, it didn’t occur to me to check on you.  You have always been a child that has bounced back from adversity.  It didn’t even cross my mind that you would not be able to handle all of this because of how intensely resilient you are.”

I was silent.

As I think about my dad, specifically on this day, I am reminded of all the good things that my father gave me.  There are thousands of memories that are mixed with good and bad.  As much as my father drove me insane for years, as I mature further into my adulthood, I’m constantly reminded of the positive attributes I have because of his reinforcement.  I am eternally grateful for the amount of discussing my dad and I did before he died.  He was able to see me 100%.  He watched, helpless, as I struggled through the last year of his life.  But, he told me that he was not worried about me.  I walk around today knowing that a good portion of my confidence is because of my dad’s faith in me.

So, for what would have been my dad's 59th birthday, I am giving him this:  I am ok.  I am human and flawed.  But, I am learning and growing.  I will be ever diligent in my pursuit of becoming the best version of myself I can be.