Meeting my Dad

Along with buying my car from Muhammad during my Washington DC visit during Thanksgiving break, I also met my father for the first time. Yep, you heard right, I met my father for the first time. I never realized it until after I saw him. 

Throughout my life history, I only had 3 memories of my father. I remember he walked me home from my 1st grade play. His hands were very firm as he held my hand, his steps were very large compared to mine. I remember feeling so cool having my dad walk me home, like I could brag to the older kids. The next memory I have of him is in 7th grade, I saw him briefly  I only remember a parking lot scene for like a sentence. He was getting something out of a trunk and he said, "been a while". I said "yep". The next memory I have is in 2009 Thanksgiving, I remember him giving me an enormous amount of food. I also had a failed moment where I was just messing around on Grandma's computer in the basement. He kinda said the same thing, been a while. Then he asked me some obscure question about the computer, I answered it, and the conversation just kind of ended. I remember thinking hard about how I am supposed to act. None of my siblings were around to get guidance, so, I just went to shell mode, won't open up and risk getting hurt! The chutzpah! But yea, that is it, in my 22 year old life. 

So the day before I left back for Blacksburg, me and Saleem went over to a get together with many of my fathers side of the family. So crazy to climb up that part of the family tree. So eventually daddy swings through. The first thing I remember was thinking, wow, I'm as tall as him! We hugged and then we had a real one on one talk for the first time I ever can remember, that's why I say I met him for the first time. His hands were rough. He had a distinct fashion. His beard was long, he said that was just a recent thing. He poked fun at my not so sparse facial hair. His voice was similar to Kamau, kind of. He knew a lot a lot about random subjects. We changed topics so much, he kept having to stop himself from going on too long about stray ideas. I do that all the time! He didn't know how old I was. He didn't know what I was doing in school. I felt he is trying though, to have a better relationship with his children in general, but that is completely just trying to be optimistic. 

I asked him about his favorite material to work with. He said he liked working with copper. The health benefits, the ease of tinkering and junk. I love copper, I told him about a building I designed with a copper roof. 

Crap, I just got hit with some more feeling. What could have been? What would it have been like growing up with a creative father, helping him with the materials, how much could that have helped me in my Architectural education? How would my thirst for news and knowledge have been enhanced by someone who keeps up with things and is in the know? I guess I can't really dwell on them too much, nothing can change about that. I'll probably cry about it in a couple years. The only thing to do is try to forge some sort of friendship? relativeship? I don't think it is possible for him to ever take a fatherly role in my life, so I guess it would ideally just be a someone I got to know and sometimes reminds me of me for obvious reasons. 

Endnote- Two blogs in a night, the kid is on fire