In early July, we celebrated my Dad's 70th birthday with a big fancy dinner party. The room was full of my Dad's friends; some of whom he has known for more than 50 years. I grew up with many of them, seeing them at BBQs, church camp, and the occasional smoky house party with loud karaoke music (we hosted a LOT of these). In the 80s, my parents loved to party: 8-10 families in the house, Johnny Walker, Stoli, open mics complete with dirty jokes. It was crazy but fun. These same people now greeted me with smiling familiar faces now lined with age. I put a lot of effort into the party planning. I created a an extensive slideshow of my Dad's life and a trivia game about his life, quirks and hobbies. He loves doing the laundry, go figure. No one got drunk and I didn't faint during my toast. I was happy no one could tell that in the weeks leading up to the birthday that I was an emotional wreck. The panic in the days before the party would ebb and flow. I channeled most of it into the preparation for the party; hence the lonnngggg slide show. I busied myself to stave off the reality.
Dad turning 70 just stopped my breath. 70 sounded so old. Before my Dad reached his seventh decade, 70 used to conjure up images of a bent over old man using a cane with white flowing hair: Gandalf from Lord of the Rings. My wide-faced, tan Korean Dad looks nothing like Gandalf. He works out at the YMCA four times a week, plays golf every weekend and looks like a trim 50 year old. Heck, many of my friends told me that they found him attractive (gak!). I realized that I was emotionally wrought because I thought he would live forever and here I was faced with a significant sign of his mortality. His life will end just as mine will someday. It didn't help that I turned 40 the day before his party. I had to swallow two big milestones; each felt like a heavy, cold anvil.
We've come a long way - my Dad and me. We didn't always have the greatest of relationships. He's a bit of a rageaholic, type A, perfectionist. He was always head of his class since he had to win scholarships to pay for school in Korea. He expected me to be the best. When I misspelled a word during a district-wide spelling bee, he berated me on the way to the car. Nice. This guy had NO filter. He was so strict. I remember crying into my big bowl of gomtang (Korean soup) because I couldn't sleepover a friend's house. "What's a sleepover?" he asked. "You have a perfectly good bed upstairs!" He's also very traditional: women serve men, women keep the home. This pertained to my Mom the most. For me, he wanted something different. He wanted me to be Carly Fiorina - a CEO. (talk about contradictory).
But during the last 10 years, we've built a new relationship. I've confirmed that we actually have a lot in common. He is an artist (painter), loves to read (all of Steinbeck's novels), and go to museums. He also loves to go out to eat. A bon vivant. Most importantly, he became a Christian recently. His heart has been softened by God's grace. It's amazing really; a miracle. I should never underestimate God's power. He marinated the heart of this rageaholic with his Love. He's definitely not a softie still but I'm glad that we still have this time together not to right past but at least to add another chapter.
