8:14 P.M.
There is no �I� in team. If I had a nickel for every time I heard that saying�
Shit!
Will I ever be good at working with a group?
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Growing up I usually got along better with the parents of my friends than my own family, yet my friends had little or no problem warming up to my parents. I have to admit my dad was a great guy when he was around. My dad was rarely around when I was young but when he was around the time we spent together was memorable.
I also remember that when I was growing up, my parents also had great friends who would be there in a pinch no matter what. They had known most of their friends for more than 10 years and they had the best stories.
Dad was a great cook and always seemed to make better sandwiches than anyone else. I mean, anyone can make peanut butter and jelly with the crusts cut off, but something about my dad�s way of making things made it turn out better. Thinking back, I would even eat the things I disliked if I knew he prepared it.
Dad would take me to the beach, to the diner, or out for ice cream for no apparent reason.
My friends often found my dad interesting. The way he would talk about the good old days when he was on the swim team, or when he was a coach back in Indiana.
Whenever I would have a slumber party, I remember my dad would have the best stories. He made it sound like he had been everywhere and tried so many great things. He traveled a LOT but rarely brought a camera with him on his business trips. The only photo�s I can even recall seeing were the snap shots from his trips to Hawaii. The photos I saw made me wish I could travel more.
Dad�s tales about the places he had seen were just as inspiring as photographs.
I remember being present for some of the events that turned into one of his stories. We used to have these big spiders in our house, and no one would kill them but dad. So when dad recapped the events to his friends about the spiders in our house, they sounded like they could have been the spawn of KING KONG!
Oh, and then there was Colorado....
Hearing about camping in Colorado, and running into bears were probably tall tales but none the less very interesting because he had so much emotion when he told the stories.
He captured the very same emotion when talking about bears, as he did when mentioning the KING KONG spiders that resided in our home....
I remember hearing him recap the "good old days" when he was on the swim team and it actually made me try out for my high school team.
I recall the many days when dad would drop me off at the pool. I would jump into the cool crisp water and freeze my butt off until I swam a couple of laps. Once I was all warmed up, I often wanted to throw the towel in and go home. It was as if I secretly hoped there was something more to being on the team.
Honestly, it wasn�t the swimming itself I had seeked out when joining the team. I longed to live out the same stories of good times that my dad had. I wanted the genuine comradery that comes with the close connections you make when you are part of a team.
I wanted to escape the fa�ade. I wanted to leave behind the twofaced cliques that roamed the halls at school.
Instead, more often I found myself miserable at practice because some asshole spent more time talking shit about me, than swimming laps.
High school was the same way. I spent more time wondering why I didn�t fit in than actually having a good time.
High school was much different when I was a kid. I mean, while I was worried about going to class with a big fat zit on my face, my dad made it sound like he was out having fun toilet papering the principals oak tree.
I remember wondering�.
Did dad make up his stories about good times in high school, or did he really have it THAT good?
Does anybody ever really have it THAT good?
