Happy birthday

Years ago, on this day, I was in Philadelphia doing boat stuff. Driving, cleaning, learning all the ropes associated with tug boating, no pun intended. I might also have been wondering here and there just how obese you were allowed to be before the Coast Guard stepped in and said, “Yeah no, Charlie, you’re too fat.”

That was his name–Charlie. I never sailed with anyone as big as colossal Charlie before or since. He had to go home to poop. He walked backwards down the ladder, which is what we call stairs on boats.

The reason I was in Philly was, yes, boat stuff, but boat stuff specifically back east. Mom and I were thinking seriously about returning there closer to family and tight friends. I was checking out a company to work for and they were checking me out. Colossal Charlie was worth his weight in boat handling, and believe me that was saying something.

My apprenticeship with Colossal Charlie would end rather abruptly. Mom would call that day–this day–from Seattle. I wasn’t able to take her call. We were tied up to the dock, though, thankfully, so that when I did get around to her voicemail I could do the next logical thing without too much fuss. I still have her voicemail. Your mom, I swear, she was so calm. She told me not to worry, but that, yeah, her water had broken and, well, shit, so much for a Valentine’s Day baby. You evidently had other plans.

The very next logical thing was of course get on the phone and book the very next flight out of Philly. There’d come a point soon on that day’s arc when I was talking to two people, neither of whom were Mom. She was too busy dealing with your impatient ass, maybe trying to wait for me to get there on time, too, which I think meant a lot of drugs and whatever else goes into trying not to think about dad being so damn far away.

So it was our lovely neighbor, Celine the Angel, who came to this family’s rescue and who I would get periodic updates from. I couldn’t tell you all the back and forths that went on now, only that Mom was doing what she could to postpone your arrival a little longer while I chewed every nail off and cussed the pilots for not going faster. Of course we had to live in Seattle and of course I had to be on the east coast, or more than 6 goddamn hours away.

A friend of mine who was significantly older than me was the second person I went back and forth with. He was a former Coastie like Dad. We met when I was still in, actually. He wanted me and my dive team to dive on a wreck in California that he believed held some loot. He was dead serious about us doing it, too, and Dad tried to come up with ideas to realize the adventure. Our short friendship would bloom in his office where we talked for hours about just how in the hell we were gonna pull off diving a treasure ship with a US government dive team. “Sir, it could be an excellent training exercise.” “But Sir, if there were a wreck, it might pose a hazard to fishing vessels with bottom gear.”

We never did dive that wreck that lived famously and permanently inside Ed’s head, but he and I became good friends, anyway. Mom and I would be invited to his daughter’s lavish Christmas spreads. You’d never seen so many decorations under one roof. You’d attend one of those, actually.

The whole relevant point of Ed here is after a short career in the Coast Guard he decided to continue his public service career as a state trooper. He would grow his hair and beard long to infiltrate biker gangs and furthermore was instrumental in bringing down the Green River killer. As humble as he spoke of these high-profile things, young blood, it wasn’t hard to believe. The photos didn’t lie, either. So you might, if you’re a freaked out dad-to-be like me, talk yourself into getting Ed on the horn and ask the obvious.

“Ed , I need a favor.”

I proceeded to tell Ed that Mom called and was in the hospital and you were about to happen and was there any way in hell that we could get a police escort because traffic was –well, you know all about traffic in Seattle.

Ed was pretty checked out after recently losing his wife of ridiculous years that I don’t think he really understood the gravity of the situation. Or maybe he understood exactly the gravity but was like, This dumbass know what all goes into a police escort?

Either way, I’d miss you by less than an hour. Ed’s son-in-law, a radio personality in Seattle who Ed called to arrange transportation for me, showed up and gave me a comforting ride to the hospital.

I’ll never forget Celine or Ed or Mark that day. I’ll never forget holding you for the first time in that hospital room. “Sorry I’m late,” I think is what I said first.

And that was 20 years ago. Today.

The very day that you introduced me to unconditional love.

Geezus.

-dad