Letters from Dad, Part 1.
When I flew to Los Angeles to see the College Football National Championship, I kept a notepad with me and tried to capture my thoughts. These notes are what I sent back to the kids over three days.
Dear Ben and Evangeline,
All journeys begin with what is familiar. Every step and mile away takes that from us until we find ourselves standing somewhere strange, exciting, and new.
When I left home this morning, the drive to the airport was illuminated by the glow of the moonlight on the snow. Like you, the world around me was asleep. Still, it was comforting to see the places we knew from our family adventures in Colorado: a barn on the roadside, the highway we took to the baseball tournament, the place where we stop for donuts.
When the plane departed, it was still dark. I watched us climb until the lights of the airport, houses, and streets twinkled in the distance. Then, we rose above the clouds and there was an infinite sea of moon soaked clouds. Finally relaxing, I drifted off to sleep.
When I awoke, the plane was over Las Vegas. From so high up, the city looks like an outpost in the middle of an alien planet, the lights of the famous strip twinkling visibly even from our altitude. The city quickly faded into remote desert and the clouds returned to blanket the ground. Occasionally, I could see little illuminated bubbles, where the lights of towns glowed under the thickening cloud cover.
A short time later, we approached Los Angeles. The sun was rising behind the airplane and it shown on a mountain range and the snow on its peaks. Like a carpet, the city began unfolding from the base of the mountains, and continued out of my view. The sky turned a creamy red, then orange, and shortly after, cooler hues revealed themselves until the morning light reflected off buildings and houses and the city stood defined. As we descended, I could make out palm trees and memories of our first trip to LA, back when Georgia won the Rose Bowl, flooded into my mind.
I know you miss me. I miss you. It's good to miss people from time to time. It means that their presence means something to us when they are around. It teaches us the value of our time together.
As you learned this year, Ben, adventures you make on your own are different than the ones you make with your family. There is more freedom, but there are also lonely times. For me, the time apart is made easier by the knowledge that we will be together soon and that we will both have much to share.
I love you all. Be good for your mother.
Love,
Dad