Two weeks ago today, I boarded a plane from Denver to San Francisco with my dad to celebrate his 60th birthday. Dann met us there and, a couple of hours later, my mom, both of my brothers, both of my sisters, my brother-in-law, and baby V all arrived on the same plane from Denver. My sis-in-law and sweet baby Jay joined us periodically throughout the trip via the wonders of modern technology.
Since my dad grew up in the Bay Area but none of us (his kids) had ever spent any time there with him, we decided going there together to celebrate the fact that he'd made it to 60 would be fun. I hoped it would be special and meaningful for him, too. I'm not sure I've ever seen my dad quite so excited. He woke up super early every morning and moseyed down to Fisherman's Wharf to watch for boats coming in and pick up some sourdough bread for the rest of us to eat. We all tagged along on Father's Day, of course.
We took a tour of Far Niente, we ate at Fenton's, we ate at Scoma's, we spent a day in Castro Valley where we ate at Dell's and saw where my dad went to high school. We drove to the first house my dad ever lived in, and he and his oldest sister walked up and knocked on the front door. No answer, but we got a picture. We ate at In-N-Out three times in 4.5 days. Everyone but my mom and dad and the baby went to see Chelsea Peretti's live show taping. We walked halfway across the Golden Gate Bridge. We laughed. We cried. We made memories.
At the end of the trip, Dann and I said goodbye to my siblings at the airport and then flew home to Seattle. I couldn't have asked for a sweeter way to say so long to my family, and I'm so thankful for my dad and his life and his influence on all of us. Happy birthday, old man. Here's to the next 60 years.