An ongoing series of blog posts in which Joe talks about certain moments in his life that were important in shaping him. They may or may not have literally changed his life; some are simply guideposts in the journey of life, moments that showed where Joe was at the time and where he was going. If that makes sense. Who knows.
PART V
Drunk with Dad
March 20, 2011
It may be difficult to write this passage, since it will require me to thread the needle between being too saccharine ("I love my dad!") and dismissive ("This whole incident was dumb as shit!"). So let me start by avoiding all that and writing about the 2011 Phillies.
We all know about 2008, and how our boys in red brought home a national championship, and paraded down Broad Street. It was an incredible life experience (one that I'll write about here, eventually). The feeling was so good that I and the rest of the citizens of my city insisted that, yes, we should probably do that again real soon. 2009 brought a repeat trip to the World Series, but the Phils came up short. 2010, they added Roy Halladay, but despite his herculean efforts, they just couldn't get it done.
By the time 2011 rolled around, the window of opportunity for a repeat was closing slowly but surely, and we all knew that it might be the final year our team could make an honest effort at bringing the trophy home again. The front office knew it too, so they hung on to aces Halladay and Roy Oswalt and Cole Hamels, and brought back Cliff Lee to much fanfare, and the "Four Aces" were set to burn the fucking city down.
E-A-G-who? The Phillies were THE sports team of Philadelphia. Excitement was at an all-time high. We still had Phillies fever. My family was not exempt from that fever, and so those of us who were of legal drinking age (sorry sis!) booked a trip to Clearwater, Florida, to see the Phillies in some preseason action.
Just as the Phillies window of opportunity was closing, so too was my own personal window of college experience. I had spent four long, wonderful, strange, fun as fuck years at La Salle. It was home. And in a couple short months, I would be given a piece of paper and a boot out the door. I had no fucking clue what I was doing.
In retrospect, my fear of graduation may have been slightly unfounded. My parents were allowing me to move back home. I had two jobs lined up—not careers, but I could make some adequate money! I had a supportive then-girlfriend in Pam. My life wasn't ending.
But still, it felt like it was ending, okay? It felt like... like more was going to be expected of me. In college, I was expected to get by with good grades and not die of alcohol poisoning and pay rent on time with borrowed loan money, and that was it. After graduation, I would need to... start a career track... actually, like, find a career that I even liked... start to care about and provide for others... the grand four-year party was coming to an end.
And so I brought all these fears and anxieties with me to Clearwater, Florida, at the end of March, bottled 'em up right in my suitcase and stuffed 'em down under a few hours of day drinking at Bright House Field.
On the afternoon of Sunday, March 20th, the Phillies' "fifth ace" Joey Blanton took on legitimate ace C.C. Sebathia of the New York Yankees. I don't know who won that duel, but I could take a guess. I do know that I drank a lot of beers in the Florida sun that day. Lathered in sunscreen, surrounded by immediate family, the great Phillies 2011 team, who would go on to win 102 games, the most in franchise history, this great team on the field, playing baseball yet again, all this plus, yes, copious amounts of 22 oz. Miller Lites, with all this I was able to forget about my anxiety of an unwanted adulthood for a few hours.
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, as they say, so I can confirm that my dad was drinking all day as well. Perhaps not with the same reckless abandon as his son, and certainly his perpetually red face was slathered in much less sunscreen, but still, there he was, enjoying the same pitchers duel, drinking a decent amount. So when we all got back to the hotel room, it was decided that pizza should be ordered, because that's what you do when you're drunk on vacation, and then, well, who knows how The Conversation started.
I honestly don't know. But somehow, me and my dad drunkenly started to talk about my future, and all those previously smothered anxieties came bubbling to the surface. Voices were raised. Pam and my mother rolled their eyes collectively and left the hotel room to go to the pool.
The main point I was trying to make in my own sloppy blotto way was that I was afraid that, because I had no post-college plan, I would be looked upon by my dad as a failure. Many of my peers had spent college preparing for the future, and I spent it sneaking cases of Natty Light into my dorm room. Won't you be disappointed in me, Dad? That I didn't meet your expectations as a son? That I'll be some kind of fuck up, achieving nothing, doing nothing of note?
From what I recall, Dad refused to confirm any of this. He would always love me, he said, no matter what I amounted to. And I wanted to believe him. The whole point of this blog post isn't to call him on any shit or anything. I believe him now when he said he would always be proud of me.
But maybe at the time I didn't believe him. I don't know. Maybe it was just a pity party for yours truly. Maybe I was so scared about my future and so afraid that I would be a fucking nobody by the time summer rolled around that I was just trying to get my dad to admit it was true, that I was a fuck up, that he was disappointed in me. I don't know.
Look, it was all a drunken embarrassing mess. My dad and I haven't talked about this conversation in the years since. I think we both know it was never a conversation we would've had if we hadn't been doing a beer an inning. And it shouldn't have to be confirmed between us, it should be known already: my dad does support me in what I do. He counsels me with mostly good, and occasionally bad, advice, though whether I follow his advice or take my own path, I know he's got my back.
I guess the reason this ultimately insignificant interaction between me and my dad is being documented here, as an IMPORTANT life moment, is that I still have those fears and anxieties in my life. They aren't as strong—I have a better understanding of who I am as a person and as a contributing member of society now than I did in 2011—but they're still there.
I'm always going to fear that I will amount to nothing, that I'm not good enough. That's just how my mind works. It's just nice to know that I have family who will support me no matter what, even if, when it comes to acknowledging that support with people like my dad, it may require a good baseball team, a humid Florida climate, and plenty of alcohol.
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