My Dad

Today is my dad's birthday.  He's getting old, but you totally couldn't tell it.  This time of year I get to celebrate both my parent's birthdays and their designated holidays (Mother's and Father's Days), and it always gets me reminiscing about how great my family is.  My family is the reason I am the way I am.  And I love that, because I can use it both as a compliment and an accusation.  

I'm the oldest of my parent's six kids.  As such, I'm the default favorite.  Aside from that default, I've decided I'm also my dad's favorite, and will make that case here.  Exhibit 1.  I was the first.  

Christmas 1983. 24 days old.  I think my dad still looks pretty young, but the youth displayed in this picture blows my mind.  My parents are cool.

1985.  I think our bond is evident.  

My dad is the one who encouraged all of my outdoors inclinations.  Some of my earliest memories are of hiking with my dad.  He also taught me the importance of taking pictures that show just how high up we are, because that might antagonize my mom.  But really, my dad was the one to encourage me to start adventuring, and that's been a really important part of my life.

Malans Peak, 1996.  

 My dad also encouraged me to learn how to be handy.  My dad has given me almost every tool I own, and I love that he continues to make sure we (or at least Scott and I) have everything we may need to take care of ourselves as we maintain our vehicles and live in cheap rental properties.  It's great.

Here we are using a table saw.  I was there when the table saw almost severed Dad's fingers.  Because of that I know the importance of lowering the saw blade before you do anything else with a table saw.  

My dad was my first softball and basketball coach.  In addition to giving me tools, my dad used to call me Becky Home-Ec-y to encourage better sports performance.  I think it was both encouragement/antagonization for sport's sake, but also to continue encouraging the influence of tools rather than glue guns and other "crafty" things in my life.  I suck at crafting, but I have some fond memories of sports.  

Jr Jazz Basketball 1999.  A good year for me.  

My dad also taught me how to ski.  Really, he taught all of us to ski, and I think that's awesome.  One of my favorite things during high school and college was our habit of ditching school for my birthday to go pre-season skiing.  Pre-climate change, we usually managed some pretty good skiing on December 1st.  Also of note, my dad occasionally suggested I ditch school for a good adventure, and I will always be grateful for that.  It's important to know when you need a break from the rat race.  December 1st is often that time I need a break.

Brighton 2000.  

Brighton pre-Christmas night skiing. 2007.  

99 Turns.  The Canyons.  2011.  

Some of my fondest memories with my Dad/Family happened on vacation.  Growing up, my parents ensured that we went on vacation somewhere cool every summer.  In the last few years I've really come to appreciate this, as I've realized taking a family of 8 on vacation means hours of crowded driving, many opportunities for children to run off cliffs or into raging rivers, and little sleep.  But it also means lots of fun and lasting memories.  The spot we've picked most often is Yellowstone National Park.  We first went in 1992 (which I have no good pictures of), then in 1997, 2003, and 2009.  And there were lessons from my dad along the way.  

Lesson #1.  Always remember bears.  

Yellowstone 1997.  Eating cantaloupe.  

The picture above demonstrates one of mine and my dad's favorite activities: eating.  On this particular occasion  we were eating cantaloupe, lots of cantaloupe.  You know what happens when you eat 2 pounds of cantaloupe right before bed?  You need to pee a lot.  However, because I was camping, I laid in bed for a lot longer than I should have, tossing and turning before recognizing that I should just get up and brave the cold so I could get some sleep.  On this particular vacation, my dad woke up too because he heard me tossing and turning, and exiting the tent and used it as a way to teach me about the threat of wildlife.  On my way back to my tent I heard a roar and some bushes moving and immediately thought "Bear!" and screamed something else (I forget what).  But it was no bear, it was my dad.  That's how his brain works.  And once my heart rate returned to normal, I thought it was hilarious.

Yellowstone 1997.  The crowded travel conditions.  

Yellowstone 1997.  

Family vacations also took us to Arches NP, San Diego and it's wildlife attractions, Bear Lake, and Fish Lake.  But we always came back to Yellowstone.  Our next trip was in 2003, and this is really the most memorable trip of all.  I was getting ready to start my sophemore year in college and somehow thought I was finished learning important life lessons on family vacations.  Wrong.  So wrong.

Lesson #2.  My family is the coolest.  

Yellowstone.  Tent.  2003.  

 Look at that picture.  Have you seen a happier group of 8 sharing the same tent?  No.  You haven't.  This is the point in my life where I realized my parents were so right, my friends had come and gone, but my siblings were really becoming my best friends.

Lesson #3.  The Swirling Vortex of Terror.  

This was a critical point in my relationship with my dad.  I've been reminding him for years about how he never taught Liz and I to swim.  Sure, we went to the pool and kind of learned later in life.  But when we were kids, fearless and more receptive to lessons, we weren't taught to swim.  We learned how to ride bikes instead.  Despite not really learning the swimming thing, my dad was always encouraging us to jump in bodies of water.  Flowing water, still water, it didn't matter.  We were always encouraged (read: taunted) to jump.  And we're still alive.  So I suppose the lesson is that my dad will never encourage us to do something that will kill us.  But I'm not sure I believe it.

Swirling Vortex of Terror.  Firehole River.  Yellowstone National Park.  2003.  

Anyways, on our trip to Yellowstone in 2003, we had the opportunity to float a short section of the Firehole River.  I had my reservations.  Sure, it was warm.  But it was also huge.  And I'm not a strong swimmer. After many taunts I watched Liz and Scott jump in and they did fine.  So I jumped in.  Then my shoes came off (because they were flip flops) and I got stuck in an eddy (which I had pointed out).  Terror ensued.  But eventually I came to the other side of the channel.  Where we had to jump again.  I watched everyone go in and pop up just fine, then casually float to the beach below.  But I jumped in (using my shoes as flippers), floated in a flailing manner to the beach, and emerged sure I had just gone through the most harrowing experience of my life. I dubbed that stretch of water the Swirling Vortex of Terror and my dad has never agreed with me about it.  However, as scared as I was, I'm glad my dad has always encouraged me to jump into things feet first.

Pre Vortex of Terror.  

This encouragement has continued since then.  When I come up with a really good vacation plan, my dad is always the one who says "That's a great idea."  And he's the one I know to check in with when I go on a trip, because his response is always "Have fun, send me pictures."  My dad is one of the coolest people I know, you all should meet him, because he's awesome, and he's made me the way I am (awesome).

Lesson #4.  Always wear a hat.

My dad understands the importance of wearing a broad-brimmed hat when you're out in the sun.  He actually gave me my awesome "scientist hat" when I went to him about my troubles out in the field.  With the previous message I may have implied that my dad encourages us to dangerous things, but he also consistently reminds us to wear sunblock and a hat (because statistically we kids are more likely to get skin cancer than to drown, and that's my dad's fault).  

Lesson #5.  My family is awesome.  

Yellowstone 2009.  The family.