flying high again (with your dad)
by Robert Dean
I’m close with my parents. I talk to my mom daily. I talk to my dad sometimes, but he’s not a phone or text kinda guy. My dad is getting older. He’s got a prostate cancer diagnosis looming. I know it’s beatable and treatable, but as I’m getting older, there are those moments when you do realize that no one is invincible. Our heroes don’t wear capes, but they change your oil or make sure that you get your homework done on time.
I think one of the biggest challenges of life is knowing when it’s time to pour a coffee and have a chat. Even if it’s not your grandma’s way, try to pry some stories out of the old bird. But also, if you’re grandma, ask what’s up with your grandson, why did he give his best friend a mohawk last week? And try to find the simplicity of youth. There is medicine in the moment of laughter.
There is beauty in civility, it’s rebellion. Despite living in a world of clicks, shares, Reels, and grids, there is still time for a moment without a screen, without the constant noise of the online world. Get perspective from those who’ve been through it; let them be your guide as you navigate the deep and rough waters of life. No one is perfect, certainly not all our elders, but they’ve got the miles on their bones to let you know if something is probably a bad idea. (Trust me, kid, you don’t want to date the guy who has a mattress on his floor and smokes a vape every seventeen seconds.)
There is beauty in talking with our parents, with aunts and uncles, and grandparents. These folks won’t be around forever, and it’s our job to siphon wisdom from them because in a few years, you’ll wish you could get their perspective. The old dogs know stuff, they have X-ray vision – they can see through the BS. They know where the bodies are buried.
The world is changing at a breakneck pace. What was a norm back then ain’t so much the case now. I know that many of us are going different ways politically, emotionally, and spiritually, and that’s okay. Really, it is. If everyone were the same, that would be boring. What we should consider is whether we can learn something from one another and discover what makes us love each other when everything out there is just ugly, given all that’s happening in the world.
It’s not lost on me that conversations can become tougher, that scars of a lifetime are mile-markers of a life well-lived; despite having regrets, we all do. He is not a stranger, and we’re close, but I don’t want to miss out on his perspective. We don’t agree on everything. No one should, even fathers and sons. What we do agree on is good pizza and Neil Young, a nice night, and I love hearing about his wild past. Those are stories I can share with my two sons. Recently, Ozzy Osbourne held his final concert - he was given his flowers. People from around the world raised $200 million for a children’s charity in his name, letting him know he is loved. This is how we should treat those who put their necks out for us. My dad played Black Sabbath for us when we were kids, and now that I’m a grey beard in middle age, I thank him for that gift of rock and roll. Influence carries for generations, even when the person doesn’t realize it. Play it loud while you still can. Give those around you their flowers just the same.
Post-script: I wrote this while Ozzy was still alive. Now that he’s gone, the words mean even more to me. – Robert