Father Time is a weekly column dedicated to the concept of time in a parent’s life, particularly a father’s life. The point of view comes from a father of two young sons, both under three-years-old, and how time really is just that: a concept.
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My godmother Joni and I had been driving for twelve hours through the deserts of Southern California and Arizona on our way back to Santa Fe. We had left San Diego early that morning in my truck with the intention of getting her back home after a visit with her daughter, Sydney, my first cousin generously providing her home as my temporary living space. It was at last time for me to collect all my things back in Santa Fe, and make my move to California official. I was 23-years-old, and it was Independence Day, 2000.
I had only been staying in California for three months, but it already felt like a lifetime had passed.
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Though we arrived well into night, our trip seemed incredibly fast. I dropped Joni off at her home, and headed for the apartment I shared with my best friend, Alex. I had only been staying in California for three months, but it already felt like a lifetime had passed. On the way back to my apartment, I passed the high school I once attended hoping to catch the tail end of the fireworks. The show had long ended. No one was in sight.
I still felt a buzz in the air and wanted to find the party. I had hoped Alex would have one going, but when I got to our place, we was asleep. He woke when I came in, and said he’d been out with our friends, however everyone had gone home for the night. We stayed up and talked, and I shared with him what he already knew: that this was just a pit stop.
Those few days back in Santa Fe were spent packing, visiting, and stretching out the goodbyes. On the day I was to leave, I went out to lunch with my family. I still remember saying goodbye to my Mom in the parking lot of the restaurant, the both of us knowing it was the real end to that specific chapter.
It is on this symbolic holiday that I—as we all should—celebrate personal freedom against the backdrop of our nation’s freedom.
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That Independence Day, though tiring and vacuous as it felt in the afterglow of a celebration I had missed, was a defining moment in my life. I would no longer live in the city or the state where I grew up. It was the beginning of a new chapter in my life in the place where I would start my new life. The place where I would eventually start my own family. My love affair with America’s Finest City was just beginning.
It is why, until this day, I cherish Independence Day. It is on this symbolic holiday that I—as we all should—celebrate personal freedom against the backdrop of our nation’s freedom. I can’t think of a better day to pause, and say thank you, for such liberty.
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Photo credit: Robert Couse-Baker.