The Yeager Road Diaries - Moving day and the man I am becoming

That fall morning morning I woke up and went and helped my mom finally finish moving into her new apartment. This has been a long process because my mom had been driving over from Alabama a couple of times a week to paint and move a small load of boxes.

First, a bit of background is required:

I was born in London in 1965. My mother and my "Father" divorced when I was about 3 years old and we came back to the states to live with my grandparents. My grandmother and grandfather were great people and they loved me very much. My grandfather was my personal hero and I have spent a lot of years trying to be the kind of man he would want me to be... so much so that I even once wrote an entry called Chasing Roy, that summed up where I am with that. When I was 6 my grandfather died... I was as devastated as a 6 year old can be. Two years later, my mom met and married George, a man 5 years younger than her. He was a big bear of a man with a beard... He's the man that I call "Dad"... because though he may never be a hero to me, he has always (for good and bad) been my Dad...

Dad and I have been adversaries more than we have been friends. He has two sons that are very much like him. I am not like him. He was always very physical where I was intellectual, he was never very demonstrative where I am the huggy-feely type. And... (as he and I learned the hard way) he is a 'Hot' fighter (he loses his temper) and I am a 'Cold' fighter... (I hit a man with the idea of making sure he stays down.)

We found out which is better... we don't discuss it... it was a moment that never happened.

In 1990 my mom and dad divorced. That drove a bigger wedge between us. Dad and I became enemies. However, Mom and Dad are just weird, over the years they have become like a married couple that live in different houses and don't have sex...

So, somewhere in this mish-mash of emotion, dad and I made peace and came to respect each other and then kind of became friends... and then one day... he told me he loved me... I was 33... It took 24 years for him to say that.

You see... somewhere he realized that his two "Biological" sons are never there when he calls. They never come see him, they never call -- I, however, the "bad son" have always been there.

So, years after meeting him, we are now friends.

Now, If you have stayed with me thus far, let us go back to the beginning. That day, we moved my mom's last load of stuff.

She got a small Ryder truck and her friends loaded it in Alabama and I convinced her to hire some people to unload the truck. On Friday I told them to wait on the movers and not touch a thing.

When I got to Mom's new place, Dad had unloaded the dryer and hauled it upstairs because it was "in the way". The movers had arrived and I told dad to get out of the way and not to lift anything else or I would "Kick his ass". I paused. I had never actually ever said anything like that. He smiled and said: "Once upon a time you wouldn't have been able to..." It was weird, he seemed proud.

The movers did a fast job and we tipped them (I mention this because it never occurred to my parents to do so).

We assembled beds and Book-cases and mom's curio cabinet. We put her TV and entertainment center together and hung heavy pictures and mirrors. We assembled her computer and peripherals.

The day flew by. We went out to eat as a family and came back to finish some work.

Finally I saw Dad standing on the landing alone and mom went out to talk with him. He was crying... Dad never cries. I think he realized that after years, Mom was through waiting on him. Now HE had to do the chasing, if he wants her in his life.

I left around 9 o'clock. I was exhausted, but it was a good kind of tired. I left because the big stuff was done and because I think Mom and Dad needed time alone. Dad hugged me a lot and I kissed his cheek and he told me he loved me. It wasn't as awkward as it sometimes can be.

When I got home I watched the Braves game and just drifted into those regions of thought that come after hard work.

When I went to bed, I stood in front of the mirror and looked at the few gray hair I am getting in my beard and at the small collection of lines around my eyes and I saw my Grandfather and my Dad staring back at me.

I could think of much worse people I could become than the man they helped me be.