Variable Consistency

Towards the end my Dad came up with a new catchphrase that I didn't really get. He thought it was hilarious. It was based on some exchange with one of his nurses at UCSF and her wondering if Dad was as difficult with all the other nurses as he was with her. I don't remember how it went exactly, but it ended with, "Everyone gets the same treatment."

He was always working on a new catchphrase, but that's not where I'm going with this story. My story is that with my Dad this phrase was true. Everyone did get the same treatment. They got the same amount of love and attention from him, BUT it was very tailored and fitted to each person. All us kids were not treated all the same, but we were given the same amount of individual attention. I'm hoping that makes sense. None of us can share the same stories unless we were ALL there. We all have individual stories that are unique and our own, but we all have them. Here's an example to better illustrate:

When I was in middle school for a couple summers, Dad and I would go dirt bike riding. I think maybe on a couple outings Chris or Doug may have been there, but the vast majority of the times it was just me and Dad. Chris was out of the house probably and Doug was too young to ride. We went several times each summer. Dad had a big Husqvarna and I had a little old Suzuki. We'd load them up in the truck, stop by and grab a bunch of snacks and Wild Cherry 7-Ups and head down to Oroville out near the airport and ride in these big open fields. Dad taught me how to ride a motorcycle. The place we rode was a huge range of fields with a dried creek bed winding all through it. At some points the creek bed was 8-10 ft across and one side was 5 ft higher than the other. We'd take turns playing follow the leader across the fields and riding IN the creek beds making twists and turns. When I followed Dad it turned into a life and death struggle for me. With the tall brush and the height of my bike I sometimes couldn't see where we were heading, but I just followed Dad. All of a sudden I'd see his front wheel pop up and his bike soar across open air. (His bike was a proper dirt bike with plenty of power and a great suspension, mine was 20 yrs old and made for street and off-road use) He was jumping across the creek bed from the high side to the low side. I'd have no choice but to follow. By the time I saw what I was about to jump across there was no stopping. I'd pin the throttle and pull up, hoping to make it to the other side. Most the time I did. I'd almost always catch a little of my back wheel and a couple times I caught a whole lot of it and would slam into the handle bars.

Sometimes we'd switch bikes and he'd let me ride his big bike. If I ever stalled it I'd have to jump off so it wouldn't fall, try and kick start it, or find a hill to coast it down, climb on while it was rolling and pop start it. I was still pretty young and hadn't gotten tall yet.

The best part (that didn't involve me wondering if I'd make it to the other side of a gap) was when we'd be riding along and a jack rabbit would jump out, that we had startled, and start running at full speed. Instantly Dad would start chasing it and I'd start chasing him and he'd try and keep up with it as it turned and tried to get away from us! Eventually it'd make too quick a turn and we couldn't keep up. That was fun.

None of my brothers and sisters have this memory. Dad and I went riding a lot by ourselves, just he and I. And they all have individual memories too that i don't have. Jenny had a horse, Wendy traveled in Russia with him, Doug ported and polished heads with him, etc, etc. No one has the same exact stories to tell... but everyone got the same treatment.

And that was really damn impressive, to take time and make individual memories with 7 kids. If he hadn't been such a great Dad this wouldn't have happened.

I miss you, Dad. I love you.

- Goose