May 20th, 2004

I zipped up and back to Oregon earlier this week (more on this trip in a later entry). I was gone for a total of 36 hours. I came away with a new discovery related to fatherhood. Having a son has made me much more aware of my own mortality. This little burst of new life has made me desperately aware of my own life, and the fact that suddenly, my existence has a new level of importance and responsibility placed upon it. I thought about it on the plane - what if my winged chariot crashed? what if I never saw my son again? would he remember me? I want to be there for Landon for all of the important things in his life, and all of the unimportant events as well. Suddenly I'm starting to think I should see a dermatologist to make sure my sun damaged skin isn't precancerous, suddenly my diet is something worth paying some attention to, maybe the air I breathe should be a little cleaner.

A coworker and I were reminiscing about early memories we have surrounding various fishing excursions we took as kids with our respective dads. I remembered dissecting fish on the patio table, cutting out eyeballs, and hearts, and stomachs to see what the fish had eaten. I remembered bringing home opaleye from the cliffs in La Jolla, still alive by the time we reached home, and trying to revive them in the sink with a mixture of tap water and table salt, the more they struggled to live, the more salt got mixed in the sink (they were after all, salt water fish). I remember falling in a pond and having my Dad fish me out. The memories forced me to realize what a wonderful and wonderfully patient father I have, and what a great role model he is for me now as a father, and how I need to try and reflect similar love and support toward Landon. I want to always remember to let Landon's imagination run wild, and to be there to share in his childhood adventures, knowing that it will shape the person he becomes, just like my adventures with scaled creatures has helped form who I am today.

I decided that the smell of old dried breast milk will always make me smile and think of Landon - gross but true.