On a late afternoon in August, 2004 I was getting some work done in my Washington, DC hotel room when my phone rang. It was my boss:
“Hey, where are you?”
“I’m in DC. Why, what’s up?”
“Do you realize a hurricane is about to hit us? You need to get your butt home.” (Except he didn’t use “butt”.)
Sure enough, Hurricane Francis was heading our way – ready to knock Florida off the map – and I wasn’t really thinking about it. Since I had a generator, my biggest concern was whether we had enough movies and beer. If my flight got cancelled, I’d hang out in DC or maybe take a drive to New York. My flight did get cancelled, but my girlfriend convinced me to drive home. A twelve hour drive in the wrong direction on I-95. I passed a million cars coming north – I felt like Del Griffith and Neal Page in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. It was fun. Once the storm hit, we were safe and secure, with plenty of beer and wine, and some movies too. Francis lasted days, but we had a blast – a two-three day party.
Well, it wasn’t quite like that last week during Hurricane Matthew. Like everything else in life, hurricanes are a much different experience as a father. I left home (Orlando) for Houston on Tuesday morning expecting the storm to cruise up the contour of Florida about 100 miles off the coast. When I landed, I had received an email from United letting me know that I could reschedule my flight home at no charge. This notification alarmed me. I immediately checked the forecast and sure enough – that sucker shifted west. My only thoughts were with my family. My wife is a news reporter and would be working round the clock throughout the whole storm. If I didn’t get home, who would stay with our daughter? My wife would, but then she would miss fulfilling her mission of keeping us informed – something she cares deeply about. Who is going to get the house ready? Who is going to be the father and husband of my household? No one if I was in Houston. I had to get home.
Once I returned home, my immediate objective was getting the house ready. After that, my biggest job was making sure my daughter felt safe for the next few days. That was it. I couldn’t think of all the work I had to do. Although important, it had to wait. There was no drinking wine and beer, no hanging out with friends and watching movies – it was two days of being on, and two nights of sleeping with one eye open. It was a blast watching my wife getting blown around by the storm on TV, but only because I knew she’d done this before and wasn’t in danger. If I didn’t know that, I would’ve been scared to death for her. Other than that, the whole experience was stressful.
Everything turned out ok. Central Florida was spared, for the most part. My daughter was perfect – absolutely perfect. We played games and watched Mommy and ate donuts and had the best couple of days a father and daughter could have. My brother and his roommate came over from the coast and helped me entertain her – my brother does an excellent impression of Donald Duck, which is enough to keep a three year old laughing for hours. We had fun, but boy was it a different experience than it was in 2004.
As I wrote on Father’s Day, this is what it’s all about. It used to be about hurricane parties, but that’s only because there wasn’t a higher calling. Today it’s harder, but so much better. Don’t get me wrong, one day I’ll fill the wine fridge while I’m positioning sandbags outside our back door, but that’s many years away. For now, whenever a hurricane comes our way, I’ll take advantage of the opportunity I have to be a father and husband, and relish the time.
