Hours passed and still, as the sun set, you could see him swimming in the vast undulating sea, facedown, making only his snorkel and Costco water trunks visible.
That was my dad.
It would only be much later, after everyone picked up and left, that it would dawn on him if we too should eventually make our way back for dinner.
And when a vacation had winnowed down to its last days, he’d invariably lament, “If we could have stayed just a few more days.”
A Tom Sawyer incarnate, he was determined to suck the marrow out of life—as his life on earth seemed to be measured by the adventures had, especially with his family.
Undoubtedly, it is what kept him pushing through all the hard times.
Whether he knew it or not, if there’s one thing he left in his kids’ DNA when he passed away, it was that same propensity for frontiers not yet crossed, people still to meet, and oceans waiting to be swum.
The very moments that kept him alive are the ones still alive within us today.
A man of relatively modest means, my dad never sought fancy things, but travel and exploration were a high priority. And he’d always find a way.
On one of those occasions, we more or less bootstrapped our way to the Dominican Republic—a deeply unknown territory for all of us—with buddy passes my mother provided with her Jet Blue benefits.
It was a miracle that all seven of us (including my aunt and uncle) managed to make it on one red-eye flight with only a minimal layover in New York City. That’s where our exotic travels began.
My dad had worked numerous graveyards at the refinery right up until the night we departed. I’m pretty sure he was functioning on zero. But his excitement was palpable.
Upon our arrival, an elderly man picked us up in an extra-mini van. The epitome of canned sardines, in my dad’s state of exhaustion, his dead weight alternatively shifted onto each of us side to side as we circled up the mountain for what felt like hours—passing local farmers leading mules and sighting colorful roosters amidst the jungle-like flora.
While skeptical about where our dad was taking us, I’ll never forget that first sight of Puerto Plata. The exotic yellow-colored hotel against an unending blue sky and the sparkling ocean that lay just behind. My dad had brought us to paradise as we knew it.
That trip would ignite the wanderlust in all of us—one taste of the forbidden fruit and we were hooked.
Innocently oblivious, my dad was the perfect kind of traveler. To every taxi driver’s dismay, he’d sit in the front seat even when there was plenty of room in the back. He’d ask them all about their life story, if they had kids, had heard about the Utah Jazz, and what they thought the weather would be like.
You’d hear my dad later recalling their story and repeating their name, saying, “What a nice guy!”
Even in the misadventures, rich memories were made.
On a rickety sailboat in St. Martin, while taking a break in the bay, those with athletic inclinations began doing flips off of the boat.
My dad couldn’t let the moment pass. After watching a leaner and more agile Scotsman cannonball off the bow, my dad followed suit only to make a pounding slap on the sea with an achingly loud belly flop.
Little did he know, the whole crowd had roared, “Ohhh!” But before you knew it, he was at it again.
My dad always enjoyed taking the more adventurous route. Like the time we took the local bus in the Bahamas traveling through the whole of the slums before making it to our stop.
The bus driver was rather spirited and drove at a pace that was ostensibly uncomfortable even for the residents. And one young Bahamian man piped up, “Slow down for the dolla, Mon!”
These “budget-friendly” experiences always proved themselves to be memorable, rendered a lot of time spent at the beach, and even dining in some particularly authentic settings—taking fairly calculated risks that could have resulted in trouble but never did.
I know my dad wanted to take us traveling and share adventures with us—it meant everything to him—but I don’t know if he knew that he opened the world for us. And what a lasting impact it had. Or maybe he did.
From wild horseback rides on the beach, natural slides in the jungle, ziplining in the mountains of Puerto Vallarta, snorkeling about everywhere, going on rum tours, and taking crazy sailboat rides… My dad gave us the adventure of our life.
My dad gave us the adventure of his life.
"His life on earth seemed to be measured by the adventures had, especially with his family."
"I know my dad wanted to take us traveling and share adventures with us—it meant everything to him—but I don’t know if he knew that he opened the world for us."