I Took a Cruise Alone With My Dad
Was I nuts?
In line at Starbucks, waiting to order a Caramel Macchiato, a crazy idea popped out of nowhere, like a gentle whisper in my ear: “Go on a cruise with your Dad!”
Huh? I’m too busy. I can’t afford it. This was nuts. I was 36, living in Oregon, with a job, a wife, three children, a mortgage to pay and a lawn to fertilize. Dad, disabled in an accident, was 64, living with Mom in Stevens Point, Wisconsin, in the house where I was raised.
Yet the idea of a father-son “mancation” would not leave me.
After getting the all-important green light from my wife, I sheepishly called Dad to make my pitch.
ME: “Hey, Dad, I’ve got a crazy idea.”
DAD: “What’s that?”
ME: “Let’s go on a cruise together, just you and me!”
Long pause. What was he thinking? Might he say no? I nervously filled the silence.
ME: “It occurred to me that we haven’t had father-son times like we used to before I got married and had kids. I miss that. I know you can’t golf anymore, but I found some cheap cruises leaving Miami. I’m thinking 80-some degrees in February, with all-you-can-eat buffets and a casino. Maybe you can try to teach me your Blackjack tips again.”
DAD: “Wow. I don’t know. Sounds interesting. I’m a little stunned.”
ME: “There is a catch.”
DAD: “What’s that?”
ME: “YOU have to pay for it.
( nervous laughter)
ME: All I have to offer is a frequent-flyer voucher. I could meet you in Miami.”
DAD: “What the hell. You only live once. Let’s do it!”
As the Carnival cruise ship Ecstacy left the Florida coast on February 2, 1997, it was 80 degrees and sunny.
We had the time of our lives. We ate from huge buffets. Dad went back for seconds. Sometimes thirds. He gambled at the casino and won. He gave me a crisp $20 bill from the ATM and said, “See what you can do.” I lost his money in less than an hour but felt the glow of a renewing relationship increasing by the minute.
We sat in a hot tub one night. He told stories I had heard many times before. I didn’t mind this time. We discussed my career, Wisconsin sports, grandchildren and theology. He was comfortable and curious when talking about faith. As a young man, he attended a Catholic seminary to become a priest. I’m glad that didn’t work out. He joked I could still call him “Father.”
Dad was a Roman Catholic who never missed Sunday Mass and helped younger men in AA stay sober, among other acts of service. With our shirts off, vulnerably revealing our untanned Irish chests, I asked him if he knew where he would go when he died. He said it depended on how many unconfessed sins were on his soul and whether they were cardinal, mortal or venial. I knew these were embedded lessons from the Baltimore Catechism drilled into him as a boy by nuns carrying rulers as instruments of corporal punishment. I didn’t argue.
I told him I was confident about where I was going because Jesus had paid the price for my sins. He has bought my ticket to heaven, just like Dad prepaid my cabin and meals for the cruise.
“I wish I could believe that for myself. But I’m glad for you,” Dad said.
On one glorious afternoon at sea, we laughed on deck, the wind rippling through what was left of Dad’s greying hair. A stronger wind seemed to sweep our past hurts and division into the warm Caribbean air, letting them drop to the bottom of an ocean of forgiveness, where they could cause no more harm.
I felt his love. He felt mine.
At MIA, we prepared to board separate planes. I saw tears well in Dad’s eyes — tears of joy, gratitude and some sadness that this had to end.
“Great idea,” he said. “I can’t believe we did this.”
He extended his once-strong but now somewhat frail arms to embrace me. Our chests touched in a man-to-man hug for several uncomfortable but beautiful seconds.
DAD: “I love you. I’m proud of you.”
ME: “Love you, too, Dad. Maybe you can take me on a cruise every year!!”
We chuckled at the absurd but enticing thought.
I felt like a lighter man on the return flight.
The call came four months later. Mom had gone outside to spend a few minutes in her garden, and when she returned to the house, she found his body on the floor. His soul was already in heaven. A blood clot ended his life in an instant. His death rocked my world.
I can faintly hear his hearty laugh on that deck if I close my eyes. I captured his smile that day in a framed photo that is now on my bookshelf. I also have a shot of the two of us dressing up for a fancy dinner on the ship.
I’m grateful I had the ears to hear and the will to act on a crazy, impractical idea from a voice whispering ever so gently. I didn’t know it would be a farewell cruise with my father.
