I was 23 when my father finally decided he would be part of my life. For the years prior to that, he had been nothing more than an abstract idea, a fleeting thought on my mother's mind. My childhood was composed of unanswered questions and sore spots, and so I learned early on that I wouldn't really get much out of my mom. Despite trying her best on her own and having to be two parents for me, my mother would never give me a straight answer about my father, who he was or what had happened. I realized quickly that it was never wise to instigate a conversation on this topic, because it never seemed to end well.
What I do remember of my father was vague and appeared in my head like a '50s film, in black and white. I knew he had left my mother slightly before I was born, but had seen me a few times as a young child. My mother never spoke of him negatively, and I never recall thinking that it seemed as if he was “the bad guy.” I specifically remember being in the back seat of his car, never seeming to be going anywhere in particular. My father would be driving silently, and I would be in the back, watchfully looking out the window. Every so often, he'd crane his neck back to take a look at me, smiling half-heartedly. In my memories, he had always seemed awkward. So around the age of four or five, when my father stopped coming around to take me on these aimless road trips, it was more of a relief to me than anything.
At breakfast, a few days after my university graduation ceremony, my mother told me in passing that my father was in town and wanted to see me, as if it were some sort of small deal. My mom said that if his flight had been a few days earlier, he would've liked to attend the graduation. It was out of character for my mom to be the one to bring up my father, but she hadn't wanted his arrival to be a surprise to me. I told her that that was fine; I was a little bit cynical but I knew there would be more trouble in turning him down than in seeing him.
“When does he want to see me?” I asked her sitting across the table from her in our crammed kitchen.
“Tomorrow,” she quickly threw in, scared that it would be rejected.
“Okay... that's fine.”
“Oh, good,” I remember her saying, “I didn't think you'd be so mature about this.”
“Well...” I had said, but never got to finishing the sentence.
He had shown up at our front door in the afternoon the next day, wearing a pair of casual khakis and a well-worn sweater that read “Syracuse U.” Well, I thought, now I know one thing about him.
“Hi,” I remember saying because I had nothing else to say, “come in.”
We didn't hug or shake hands, and I don't think either of us made an attempt to; I'm sure we both understood it would be unnatural.
“Thanks Neil,” he greeted as he stepped into the doorway of our two-room apartment.
I hadn't really had an idea of what he looked like, but now I saw he was pretty normal in all respects. He was average weight and height, and he didn't dress like a drop-out, nor did he look corporate. It didn't surprise me that he didn't quite match the ideal run-away dad though, he had never seemed that way my entire life. He smiled and laughed with ease, I quickly found, as he talked to my mother shortly before we all sat down in our living room, our only room.
“So, all done engineering school, Neil?” he managed to fit into our conversation, speaking as if he knew anything about me.
“Yeah, actually. I'm starting up with a company downtown in September,” I explained to him, in the same way I explained it to my other relatives I saw on statutory holidays.
“Well that's great. So you'll be free until then, I hear,” he added, “Well, I had an idea.”
Despite it seeming like he wanted me to say something, I didn't. He continued.
“Your mother told me about your climbing.”
A few friends of mine from university had gotten me to come with them up north to cottage country to hike and climb on a couple long weekends over the last two years.
“I was thinking that if you're up for it, you and I can take a trip out west to do some real climbing. Mount Edith Cavell I was thinking, near Jasper.”
Truthfully, I did have the intention to get out west to climb something, and I appreciated that he didn't just say, “You know, some father-son bonding time, just you and me, how 'bout it, sport?” I would've put aside any thought I would've had and told him to go back home.
“It'd be sometime later this summer,” he added, “you don't have to answer now. But tell your mom and she'll let me know, alright?”
“Sure, sounds good,” I told him.
There wasn't much else to his visit. We quickly went over the last 15 or so years of my life in varying amounts of detail, and he shared with us a bit about what he was up to. He worked out of Seattle but travelled a lot, working on various projects for a broadcasting company. He was working on a conference nearby and decided to stop in. He hadn't re-married and wasn't seeing anyone, and there wasn't much to his life other than his work it seemed.
The following evening, my mother finally decided that I had had enough time to give his proposition proper contemplation, so she gave her input.
“Look, Neil. I know you might not be thrilled about spending time with your father... especially after all these years. But, you should know he's basically paid for your education, and he's been checking up with me about you every so often, and he just really wants-”
“Mom,” I spoke, not wanting her to keep going on like that, “Don't worry. I'll do it.”
She smiled and thanked me in relief.
I flew out to Jasper that August on my own, and met my dad at the airport. He was waiting nervously to greet his equally uneasy son. He helped me with some of my luggage to a rental car, and we started towards Mount Edith Cavell. He explained that there were a few good climbs that he had in mind, and that after we saw most of the mountain, it was up to me how long we would stay for.
For the first day, he danced around personal questions and made a subtle attempt to get to know me, not in terms of what I had done with my life, but rather in terms of the person I was. I had expected to be interrogated about school grades and first loves, but my dad seemed to be more interested in just having a good time climbing than knowing everything about me.
He told me random facts that he had somehow picked up, like how the mountain had been named after this English nurse who'd been executed by the Germans for transporting Allied troops through Belgium to the Netherlands, and how from a certain peak, the surrounding mountains kind of looked like a battleship. He was a knowledgeable man, and he was easy to get along with. It was a lot more natural than I had expected, and I began to let myself enjoy the trip.
The third day was the last that he had a definite plan for; we would head up to the highest peak of the mountain. He assured me that the view was fantastic, and that the climb was one of the best I'd ever have the chance to do. He was right, and I had now realized that climbing was not just something he had found out I was interested in and thought would be a good way to bond. I didn't ask, but it was obvious that he had done this plenty of times before. He was about a dozen feet above me for most of the climb, and kept craning his neck back to see if I was still hanging in. He smiled each time, but it wasn't the same smile he gave me back when he was driving me around. Rather, it was a genuine, but still nostalgic, smile. As he reached the top, he turned to take hold of my harness and gave my a slight tug to help me get over the last ridge. We'd made the summit, and just as the sun was setting. My father took a seat on the bare rock, and I followed.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, looking out towards the sunset, and also towards the mountain range that surrounded us; it did look like a battleship.
“I'm sorry,” my dad said to break the comfortable silence. Before I could speak, he continued, “Neil, I'm glad you turned out well despite me. I'm glad you came along, you seem like a good kid.”
I was going to thank him but it felt out of place.
“You know, when I married your mother, I had made her promise me that she was okay with not having any kids. Well, that's what I had wanted, but I always knew she wanted one,” my dad explained, continuing to stare out onto the horizon, “so when you came along and she refused to do anything about it, I decided to leave,” he paused, noticing how that sounded, “I'm not saying blame your mother, but... you should know, right? Anyway, so I stuck around in town for a bit, and I saw you every once in a while, if you remember. But I was a rotten dad. I'd never been good with kids, and that's why I didn't want one. I was no good with you and I thought it'd be better to get out of there before we got close.”
He took a long pause, and readjusted some of his gear to make himself more comfortable, then went on.
“So now I'm working in Seattle, and I've been kind of been keeping an eye on you through your mom, you know, sending cheques in the mail, because that's the kind of guy I am, just sending money and hoping things turn out okay. But you're not really a kid anymore, Neil. And I don't expect you to forgive me, or, want to have me around all of a sudden, but I got into thinking that I wanted to be a part of your life, if only a small part. I didn't want you to go on thinking that your mom and I had hated one another or not knowing what had happened. I started thinking like that about a couple years ago, and I've just been wrestling myself ever since, knowing that it could do more harm than good to just come waltzing into your life. So I suggested it to your mother, and she told me that you took after me with your climbing, so I figured I'd rather try than go on thinking like that forever.”
He stopped, regained his composure, and then asked, “If you'd like, I can take you to some other spots that are real good climbs on a long weekend or something?”
“Yeah... sure dad, sounds good,” I managed to say.
I see my dad every statutory holiday now. And I much prefer that to my other relatives. He doesn't ask about school or jobs, he just climbs. And that's what I love about him.
