The Life, Rarefied: Happy Birthday, Dad

Man will know

Days come and go--

Flying by

To and fro.

Sometimes we are lucky enough to remember a few days with the passage of years but in all truth, we forget most days for lack of making them interesting. You could say that’s the reason for this blog – to live a little more; to see the rarity of life in the mundane as well as the majestic.

Today, though. Today is a big day. My dad turns 70 years old.

Although I am unable to be with my dad on this day of celebration, I will meagerly try to relate some meaning, instead. My dad has been the crux of my artistic and intellectual development for nearly a quarter century. He is a fantastic teacher: tried, true, patient, and caring.

---Who is responsible for me humming La Traviata while waiting for my kids at summer camp to get changed for swimming? Dad.

---Who taught me that a whole day spent at museum looking at only one painting of a man in a fluffy hat is worth the $40 entrance ticket to the museum, itself? Dad.

---Who taught me the difference between sweet and dry, white and red, nutty and fruity, aperitif and port, old and new, Chianti and Super Tuscan? Dad.

As I cannot fully do justice to how much I appreciate my dad's support and love, I will tell a story:

Once upon a time in China, my family visited me and we traveled to the southwest corner of the country where there is a mountain named Jade Dragon Snow Mountain (base camp 3,200m/10,500ft). This is a tall man, ladies and gents.

Not many people hike to the top of this mount and, being stubborn or adventurous (I’m not sure which), I was determined to prove myself.

Now, my mama prefers to hear stories of my adventures after I’m home safe with a cup of tea warming my hands. My dad says,

“You can climb it to the top…no wait, I’m coming with you.”

At the age of 67, my dad climbed that mountain with me all the way to the peak, step by step – 4,680m/15,400ft. Heart beating fast, we had to stop every 3 feet to catch our breath. The Chinese walking down from the peak had portable oxygen tanks to lessen the burden of altitude. I thought, If I cannot breathe easily, how will Dad and I reach the top? I should have been more prepared for this. I looked at my dad, willing to turn around and go back if he said the word. His face said it was no use asking. We were going to make it.

While moving slowly, Chinese people asked me how old my dad was, astonished that he was climbing so high. I replied and they just looked at him, admiringly, and congratulated me. I was proud, I am proud.

There is more I could say about this, but the best part was when we stepped onto the highest deck, we had someone take this photo (below).

Extending one hand up in the air, we had made it. Number one. It’s something I’ve noticed the Sammarcos do when we’ve surmounted the feat. We reach up, exhausted, and claim that last bit of height that only raised fingers can reach.

The unfettered freeness of the cold wind against palms made the moment real. Yet, it was not until a few moments later that pure joy settled in both of us: a tour group of 40 Chinese people had somehow also made it to the top. They saw me and Dad — rather conspicuous against the backdrop of snow, plus most Chinese people have black hair... — and proceeded to ask if each person could take a photo with us. Who are we to deny the public? Instant celebriosity – there’s nothing like it. I think my dad got quite a kick out of it.

In this instance and so many others, I am lucky. I have been supported, loved, and pushed by my parents to reach the top, run further, driver faster (but always under the speed limit, Mom), and live free. This is a tribute to my dad, who teaches me, by example, that excellence is not a single act, but a habit.

It’s Dad who taught me never to accept defeat before an attempt. Even now, when I climb to the highest point to overcome the challenge, I find myself elated, tired, and wanting to rest. In this moment, I remember I am not done. I find one last bit of energy within me to slowly extend one hand into the air above my head, fingers open, to reach a little bit higher. That energy is my father.

Happy Birthday, Dad. I love you.