It Never Rains in Southern California

The last year my dad and I went to California was December of 1999. I remember because everyone was freaking out about Y2K...my mom still has a stash in her basement we affectionately call that. Really it's just an open pantry, but nicknames die hard.

The year was 1999. Prince was on the radio A LOT. Banks were stressed out their computers wouldn't be able to move a decimal point or know what to do with sooo many zeroes. People were outfitting bunkers and stocking up on water, duct tape, and canned goods. While the world was in a panic, dad and I were driving through the Rocky Mountains.

Just as an aside, two of our favorite sites to see heading out West:
: driving down to Albuquerque as night (dad says the lights shimmer like jewels). You're driving in pitch blackness for miles in every direction until you crest a hill and there it is. Millions of twinkling lights dancing in the darkness.

: driving into Denver and seeing the massive Rocky Mountains as its backdrop.

The only other time I can think of being impressed by mountains jutting up above a skyline is the Alps in Liechtenstein, but more on that much later. Not my own pic, but you get the idea.

But I digress. So, dad and I were heading back to our old stomping grounds of Oceanside, CA. We finally made it to our hotel and it was pouring rain. I had it on good authority that it never rained in southern California, but it sure as shit did that year. It rained the whole time we were there; heavy, persistent rain. I had the worst cabin fever and was driving my dad and myself crazy.

Dad was fine watching his many college football bowls on TV. I love a good football game, but there was a point when they were showing the same ones over again. Dad was fine. This is the man who would ask me to make him tapes (then) and CDs (now) and want the same some repeated 3 and 4 times in a row. Repetition is not a problem for him. I, on the other hand, was literally jumping on my bed saying, "I'm bored. I'm bored. I'm bored." That repetition did get on his nerves. Oh, sure, NOW he cares. He gave me the keys to the car and I went to the movies. The Green Mile, in case you were wondering. It wasn't a bad trip, but it was a bit of a boo. Certainly not the sun and sand we were expecting and it's about a 30hr drive to get there. That's a long way to go to do the same thing we could have done at home.

That year was the last year we went to California. We still loved it, but figured that was the universe's way of telling us to move on...and move we did.

The Birth of a World Traveler Part 1

The first time I went overseas was when I was 15. I had been to Mexico and Canada, but nothing requiring a passport...although, now both countries do. My father received a Fulbright Scholarship to teach in a foreign country. Anywhere in the world this man could've chosen. Do you think he chose an island or a place renown for its cuisine or architecture or landscape or parties? Do you think he chose a place with ancient monuments to the gods or rulers? Perhaps a tropical land populated with beautiful people? Nope. This man, my father, chose Ukraine. Sometimes, when I want to give my friends a good laugh, I'll just randomly say Ukraine. My friends love it because it's so delightfully random.

I had just concluded a rather mediocre performance in junior high school as the GPA and actual definition of an average student. I home schooled for the fall semester and we left for Ukraine in February of 1991. For those that don't know, Ukraine is located under the south-eastern corner of Russia next to Poland, Moldova, and the Black Sea. It was under heavy Russian rule until the dissolution of the USSR in 1990. Obviously, there's more to the history than that, probably slightly inaccurate, blurb, but I am no historian and this is a story about me and my dad. Let's focus, people.

My dad, brother, and I arrived February of 1991...you do the math. My brother and I were there for the experience and took Russian classes at Odessa State University (which I received a diploma from that I still, to this day, can't read) and dad taught English. We lived in the international общежитие (dormitory) for 6 months. Ukraine had just gained independence from Russia the year before and it was a mess. Here are a quick run-down of my favorite moments:

: Not knowing what there'd be to drink, we brought a stack of Kool-Aid packs only to discover there was a sugar ration.

: My brother, 16 and annoyed to be there, packed his suitcases full of books and his computer only to have his computer singed by 220W of electricity a Ukrainian faulty converter couldn't, um, convert.

: Bread lines around the corner like in the history books.

: My dad and brother buying brand new bicycles that fell apart within a week. I think my brothers' peddles fell off the first day. The bikes were probably made by Ukrainians the same guys who made the converters.

:Mopoжeнoe

: The 16:1 Coupon to Dollar conversion rate we enjoyed. I bought long stem roses almost everyday and gave them away to grumpy people. I also bought an accordion.

: Open air markets with meats and wheels of cheese sitting out all day long.

: The first day out at the aforementioned market, right after agreeing on a meeting place if we got separated, my dad getting scooped up my the militsia for taking pictures of them. After reuniting an eternity later, my father exacted his revenge by buying every military pin he could find. He's got a very cool collection.

: The summer "cleaning of the pipes" that turned off the hot water forcing us to announce when we were taking showers so we could have the door wide open to bathe within the warmth of the sun. I've never seen my toes turn so pale.

: The "Muddy Mississippi" or my hair when I washed it because of all of the dust and dirt in Odessa.

: Toilet paper that felt like paper towels and paper towels that were just tree bark.

: The woman at the cafe in front of our school building that sold --to date--the most delicious falafel.

: -20° winters and 110° summers.

: Vinny from the Bronx and go cart races.

: My first opera.

: My first embassy dinner.

: Stopping by a shoe store after we flew into Kiev beneath a blanket of snow and me only packing flats.

: Having to wait months to settle the age old question: does one lose love or ooze love?

I'm sure there are more things that I will recall later or will be reminded of that will cause me to edit this post, but it's late and that's what I remember.

This concluded Part 1 and our broadcast day...

Let's Start At The Beginning...

My dad and I have been traveling together since I was 16 yrs old.

Wait, let me back up a bit.

I was born and raised in the Midwest, but have been road tripping with my dad and brother since I was 4...probably younger, but that's as far back as the pictures go. I know we traversed all over America, but my toddler self only really remembers sleeping in the folded down hatchback of our Dodge Omni freezing at night, clutching my stuffed animal for warmth, while my brother cocooned himself in the blanket. I also remember sitting on my dad's lap and steering the car (it was the early 80s and god love the absent car seat laws, because I can drive like an effing champ!) and hanging in between the front seats, looking out on the vast road ahead, begging my dad to pull over so I can pee. These are the things my little mind focused on.

I know we spent a lot of time out West because...well, of said pictures and a clear memory of wolves howling. It's not surprising that my favorite album growing up was this:

Here are a few of my favorite proof of travels from my youth...my apologies in advance to my brother...

 That's me without the shirt, because even at the tender age of 4 I knew the value of an even tan.

My dad liked to call that look the "Sunburst" looks. I still rock that most days, although there's a lot more comb action and product happening now.

So, the love of travel and seeing the world was instilled in me VERY early. Dad used to make little lesson plans out of it. Did I mention he's a teacher? We once rode The City of New Orleans train and dad had music (Arlo Guthrie, of course) and worksheets about all of the places we were going and their significance. It was tedious at times then, but awesome to think back on now. The man might have known what he was doing.

I'm going to share one more picture of me as a child, because it will be an image that reoccurs more often than any other and sums me up in a lot of ways. That picture is this one:

It was taken when we were visiting my paternal grandparents, Wimmy and Jimmy, in Tuscan, Arizona and embodies my love of water. It's not just because I'm weightless and feel like I'm flying. It's also not only because underwater the whole world disappears and only me and silence remain. It's not just that I feel like I'm part mermaid. It's because underwater I'm free. Free from gravity. Free from noise. Free from the world at large and simply am.

I mention the swimming mainly because that was the catalyst for what is now my dad and my world wide excursions. Fast forward 12 years to high school. My dad's birthday is December 30th and I would ask him what he wanted for his birthday. My dad is the type of man who would always reply, "World peace." Well, I can't buy world peace with my allowance, so I had to think outside of the box. So, one year when I asked him what he wanted he said, "To go swimming." Remember, we lived in the Midwest and it's late December, not a whole lot of local options. To remedy that dad suggests we drive to San Diego, California. So we did. Why not? All it takes is tandem driving, gas, and the will.

Every year, for years, we would drive out to Oceanside, California. We stayed at the same Motel 6 and would drive down to the beach and go swimming. Then we'd drive down to the border and walk into Mexico and spend the day in Tijuana. This is what we did. I never spent New Year's Eve with my friends growing up, because I was always by the ocean with dad, probably toasting with a tall glass of Pepsi. Rebels, I know.

Two of my favorite memories of California:

I remember once it was really stormy when dad and I went to the ocean. The sun had set and the waves were crashing in along the shoreline. The sky as a vast, dense greyness stretching across the horizon making the dark, tumultuous water look even more menacing. I had no intention of getting in the water. I'm a strong swimmer, but the water was less than inviting. My dad, never needing an invitation, went in. I remember him wading in the water in his cut off shorts as the waves washed all around him. He kept going in further and waves kept smashing against him. I distinctly remember one waves crashing against him so hard it turned his pockets inside out. I couldn't stop laughing. I don't know why, out of the millions of memories I have, that one's the one that sticks.

My other favorite memory is not so much my favorite because it was fun, but because it was a teaching moment.
So, we had just driven the 30 hrs to get to Cali and we headed straight for Santa Monica beach. We parked the car and took turns changing into our swimsuits. We were exhausted. It was a bright, sunny day and we wasted no time hitting the water and laying in the sun. I don't even remember a towel being involved. Anyway, I took a refreshing dip in the ocean, applied some baby oil all over my body, laid down on the beach and slept. After maybe an hour, I woke up, splashed around some more, put more baby oil on, flipped over and went back to sleep.

Now, I am biracial. My dad is white (sandy blonde hair and blue eyed) and my mom is African American. I favor her skin tone. I knew nothing of tanning and the lotions therein. I thought baby oil would protect me from the rays. Turns out in merely basted me for the roast. I was good enough to rotate myself to ensure an even cook. When I woke up the second time, I thought nothing of it. We got in the car and headed to the hotel. Needing to wash the sand and salt off, I hopped in the shower. I remember thinking that the water at the hotel was really hard and that the beads of water kind of hurt. I grabbed my back scrubber, which was in the shape of a giraffe (which is currently sitting in my shower), lathered it up and made one sweeping stroke down my back. I'd never felt that kind of crippling pain before. I cried...a lot. I rinsed off and had my dad put lotion of my sunburned back and laid in bed bewildered.

I learned 3 things that day: 1) Don't tan with baby oil, 2) Skin tone alone does not protect you from the sun's rays, and 3) My white father goes from pale to lobster red to golden brown without breaking a sweat.

Since that day, I almost always sleep on my stomach.

Lucky Girl

I recently returned from a trip with my dad. It was pretty amazing. We went to Spain, Portugal, Morocco, and the rock of Gibraltar...but more on that later. I've stepped foot on 4 of the 7 continents, with plans for more. I decided a long time ago that my lifelong goal is to step foot on every continent, except Antarctica. Fuck that. It's entirely too cold, I get sea sick, and I can see penguins in Chile. I'm more than halfway there and feel like I should start writing about it.

What makes my travels so awesome, aside from the destinations, is my travel companion. I've been travelling with my dad since I was 16 yrs old. I feel really lucky to have the relationship I have with him. Is every trip amazing? Yes...maybe not always the weather...oh, and NOT Nova Scotia. At least once a trip do I contemplate throwing up if I hear the word Ukraine one more time? Yes. But if that's the worst, then we're ahead of the game.

I used to be overly concerned and sensitive about being a "daddy's girl." I am. It's a verifiable fact. I'm shameless about it. Now, I embrace it with both arms and squeeze it like its name is George. What am I going to do? Apologize for our relationship to make people feel better about theirs? It just so happens that I have a dad who is a professor and has holidays and summers off and wants to fill his time seeing the world. I happen to love seeing the world, plus I'm a pretty great travel agent. We are also best friends. So, it's a win-win situation. I also am in love with a man who respect this huge part of my life and sends me off with kisses and holds me tight when I get home.

Lately, I've been thinking dad and our legacy. I feel like I've been so lucky to have him for my dad and feel compelled to put something out into the ether that would show him, and the world, how amazing my life has been and the huge part he's played in that. I'm not saying that my life has been flawless. There have been a wealthy of ugly years and horrible moments, but I can see the forest for the trees and know that the sum total of my life so far makes my cup overflow.

So, it's for that reason that I created this blog. I want to do a book someday about all of this, but you have to start somewhere. This is where I plant my feet.