Making it Work...

For the longest time I resented my Dad. Even though at the time I thought I was old enough to understand, I just couldn't help but feel abandoned and unimportant. After we moved from Portland, Oregon to Crooked River Ranch, Oregon in 1996 my Dad had a hard time finding adequate work in central Oregon and was forced to commute back and forth from our new home to Beaverton, Oregon every week. He would leave Sunday night, trek the 4 hours to the valley, and then come back home late Friday nights.

As you can imagine, my Dad missed a lot of things. He missed me singing, he missed all but one of my 7th grade basketball games (although, he wasn't missing much, I didn't score once all season and let that be my only season ever), he missed me cheerleading at high school football and basketball games, my choir concerts, sports awards, solo festivals, etc. In my mind, I had sincerely thought he just didn't want to be there. That he didn't care enough to figure out anyway he could to show up for me.

As an adult I see that I had it all wrong. It was BECAUSE of me, my little brother, and my Mom, that my Dad worked so hard. I'm sure if given the option he'd of had a job in our new hometown and he'd of never missed a thing, but he didn't have that option. It wasn't his decision, the only decision he had was to provide for his family and keep us fed, clothed, and sheltered. It was an amazing and, frankly, life-altering realization that my Dad loved us THAT MUCH that he would drive 8-hours (or more) a week just to give us the things we needed and to see us on the weekends. I see now that my childish ignorance probably didn't give him the credit he deserved for many of the things I took for granted, and I regret that.

There's no doubt in my mind that my Dad did everything he knew to do to make it work, and I'm so proud of him for that.