For the first thirteen years of my life, my dad always called himself “the dad that goes to everything.” And he was! Whether it was a school play, a talent show, or second grade show and tell, my dad was always there. I got used to his presence at all of these events, and took the five minute drive from his house to mine for granted. I never thought about what it would be like if that were all to change, and luckily I didn’t have to, until March of eighth grade.
My dad and I had a tradition that every Saturday morning after I spent the night at his house, I would come and sit in his bed and talk after I woke up. Sometimes my brother, Evan, would join us, but for the most part this was my time with my dad to talk about anything I wanted, or even just sit and read a book while he skimmed over the newspaper. One morning, he unexpectedly asked me a question.
“What would you think if I were to move away, and take another job?” His question took me by surprise. I thought about it for a moment.
My Dad had been working in the library department of Brown University since before I was born. When I was five, my parents got divorced, and my mom, Evan, and I moved out of our house in Riverside, Rhode Island and moved one town over, to a tiny suburb called Barrington. My dad stayed at the house in Riverside, and Evan and I visited every other weekend, as well as every Monday night. While there was a set, scheduled routine of visits, my dad only lived five minutes away. Whenever I wanted to see him, whether I was taking a sick day from school or just bored, he would drive over immediately. Though I didn’t see him every day, he was constantly in my life. If he moved away, this would all change.
“I don’t want you to move,” I told him. He said okay, and that was it. Being the self-centered thirteen year-old I was, I immediately forgot about the conversation and allowed the usual middle school gossip to cloud my brain.
As the months passed and eighth grade started coming to a close, my dad slowly continued to bring up the subject of his moving away. Each time the conversation started to steer in that direction, I immediately changed the subject after telling him I didn’t want him to move away. I guess I thought that if we didn’t get the chance to seriously talk about it, it wouldn’t happen. Of course, the subject was unavoidable. In early June the time came to have the talk that I had been dreading for months. My dad and I were in the car, driving past the Dunkin’ Donuts in town when he paused.
“Brianna,” he started. That immediately caught my attention. My dad has always called me “B,” or other crazy nicknames he thought up, never Brianna unless I was in trouble or we were having a serious conversation.
“Yeah?” I asked nervously.
“I’ve been offered a job at the University of Texas in San Antonio, and I decided to take it.” I was shocked, and unable to speak. “In order to succeed in my career, I can’t stay at the same job forever. In order to move up in my field, I have to move around,” he continued. My dad went on to explain that he was unhappy with the new boss and reminded me, as he often does, that staying at Brown for ten years was never part of the “plan.”
I was heartbroken. My dad and I sometimes clashed as I was growing up, but that didn’t change the fact that he had always been there for me, no matter what. How could that remain true when he was living on the opposite side of the country?
My dad always wanted Evan and I to know the whole story about whatever was going on. He takes pride in always explaining the situation to us in order to ensure that we understand fully. This was no different.
We had many conversations on Saturday mornings that always ended up the same way. I would be reading a magazine, and he would interrupt whatever Seventeen had to say about fashion to talk.
“B, it’s important to remember that we’ll still see each other and keep in touch,” he began. I stayed silent, willing myself not to cry. “Even though I won’t be close-by, I’ll always be your dad,” he continued.
I silently stared at the white ceiling. Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry.
“I’ll be getting a cell phone so we can text, and we’ll talk on the phone often. None of this changes how much I love you and Evan.” This was always the point where the tears spilled over.
“I don’t want you to go,” I begged. My voice cracked with emotion and I started sobbing, as I did many times during September and October as his departure grew closer.
Since my dad was moving from Rhode Island to Texas, he would also have to sell the house I had lived in since I was born. Granted, after the divorce I didn’t live there full time, but this was still the house I had grown up in. This was the house with me and Evan’s growth carefully recorded in pen on the back of the pantry door over the years. I walked into the room I had called my own for thirteen years and sat on the wooden floor. I looked around at the boxes that held my things and cried.
My dad was going to leave at the end of October, and eventually the day came when we would have to say goodbye. He took my brother and me out separately to do this. Evan went first, and then it was my turn. We got milkshakes, chocolate for me and vanilla for him. We drove around the familiar parts of Rhode Island: Route 6, Waddington Elementary School, and Providence. All I could focus on was that before long it would come to an end. And soon enough, my dad’s beat-up white car slowly pulled up in front of my house. The weather reflected the mood of the day: it was pouring rain, the wind was blowing at high speeds, and the sky was dark, despite the fact that it was only late afternoon. My dad and I both stepped out of the car and into the rain. In our many conversations about his moving, he told me that the best way to say goodbye is to hug, look each other in the eye, say “I love you,” and then walk away without looking back. The last part was key, he said. It was important to keep walking straight into the house. Of course, in my tearful state, it was difficult to remember this, so my dad talked me through it.
With the wind howling around us, my dad hugged me as tightly as he could. At this point I didn’t even try to hold back the tears. The cold rain mixed with the saline taste of tears that streaked my cheeks. My dad’s light blue eyes looked into mine, and I could see that this was incredibly hard for him.
“I love you, Brianna,” he said.
“I love you too,” I managed to choke out. He gave me one last look, and then told me to it was time for him to go.
Walking away from my dad was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. He flew back to visit three weeks later and Evan and I started visiting him in Texas every three months, but it took two years for me to be able to say goodbye to him without it being incredibly emotional.
Now I’m in college in Florida, a long way from home in Rhode Island. After my dad and I finished decorating my small dorm room, I sat on Landis Green, admiring the beauty of the campus and the way that the Spanish moss hung off each tree perfectly, as if being carefully placed at the ends of the branches. The warm Florida sun streamed onto my face, and I found that I was able to better understand and appreciate why my dad moved away. He and I are similar in that neither of us was happy in Rhode Island. Throughout my search for the perfect college to attend, I knew that in order for me to fully grow as a person and become independent I had to leave my friends and family back home for a larger place where I could continue to work towards my career goals. As I looked at the blur of unfamiliar faces walking by me, I could relate to his going to a new place where he didn’t know anyone.
Though it was almost four years ago, I thought about that stormy day as I absentmindedly played with the soft grass that sprawled across Landis. Although I will always wish that my dad hadn’t moved, the distance has strengthened our relationship. My dad has become my rock or my “safety net” as he likes to call it. He has an answer for everything, and is able to help me transition into becoming an adult, from answering questions about banking to giving me advice on how to achieve academic success in college. I still wish that my dad could have been close by for my high school years, but I fully understand why he had to leave. Looking around at what will become my new life, I realize that I’m finally at peace with it.
My dad and I had a tradition that every Saturday morning after I spent the night at his house, I would come and sit in his bed and talk after I woke up. Sometimes my brother, Evan, would join us, but for the most part this was my time with my dad to talk about anything I wanted, or even just sit and read a book while he skimmed over the newspaper. One morning, he unexpectedly asked me a question.
“What would you think if I were to move away, and take another job?” His question took me by surprise. I thought about it for a moment.
My Dad had been working in the library department of Brown University since before I was born. When I was five, my parents got divorced, and my mom, Evan, and I moved out of our house in Riverside, Rhode Island and moved one town over, to a tiny suburb called Barrington. My dad stayed at the house in Riverside, and Evan and I visited every other weekend, as well as every Monday night. While there was a set, scheduled routine of visits, my dad only lived five minutes away. Whenever I wanted to see him, whether I was taking a sick day from school or just bored, he would drive over immediately. Though I didn’t see him every day, he was constantly in my life. If he moved away, this would all change.
“I don’t want you to move,” I told him. He said okay, and that was it. Being the self-centered thirteen year-old I was, I immediately forgot about the conversation and allowed the usual middle school gossip to cloud my brain.
As the months passed and eighth grade started coming to a close, my dad slowly continued to bring up the subject of his moving away. Each time the conversation started to steer in that direction, I immediately changed the subject after telling him I didn’t want him to move away. I guess I thought that if we didn’t get the chance to seriously talk about it, it wouldn’t happen. Of course, the subject was unavoidable. In early June the time came to have the talk that I had been dreading for months. My dad and I were in the car, driving past the Dunkin’ Donuts in town when he paused.
“Brianna,” he started. That immediately caught my attention. My dad has always called me “B,” or other crazy nicknames he thought up, never Brianna unless I was in trouble or we were having a serious conversation.
“Yeah?” I asked nervously.
“I’ve been offered a job at the University of Texas in San Antonio, and I decided to take it.” I was shocked, and unable to speak. “In order to succeed in my career, I can’t stay at the same job forever. In order to move up in my field, I have to move around,” he continued. My dad went on to explain that he was unhappy with the new boss and reminded me, as he often does, that staying at Brown for ten years was never part of the “plan.”
I was heartbroken. My dad and I sometimes clashed as I was growing up, but that didn’t change the fact that he had always been there for me, no matter what. How could that remain true when he was living on the opposite side of the country?
My dad always wanted Evan and I to know the whole story about whatever was going on. He takes pride in always explaining the situation to us in order to ensure that we understand fully. This was no different.
We had many conversations on Saturday mornings that always ended up the same way. I would be reading a magazine, and he would interrupt whatever Seventeen had to say about fashion to talk.
“B, it’s important to remember that we’ll still see each other and keep in touch,” he began. I stayed silent, willing myself not to cry. “Even though I won’t be close-by, I’ll always be your dad,” he continued.
I silently stared at the white ceiling. Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry.
“I’ll be getting a cell phone so we can text, and we’ll talk on the phone often. None of this changes how much I love you and Evan.” This was always the point where the tears spilled over.
“I don’t want you to go,” I begged. My voice cracked with emotion and I started sobbing, as I did many times during September and October as his departure grew closer.
Since my dad was moving from Rhode Island to Texas, he would also have to sell the house I had lived in since I was born. Granted, after the divorce I didn’t live there full time, but this was still the house I had grown up in. This was the house with me and Evan’s growth carefully recorded in pen on the back of the pantry door over the years. I walked into the room I had called my own for thirteen years and sat on the wooden floor. I looked around at the boxes that held my things and cried.
My dad was going to leave at the end of October, and eventually the day came when we would have to say goodbye. He took my brother and me out separately to do this. Evan went first, and then it was my turn. We got milkshakes, chocolate for me and vanilla for him. We drove around the familiar parts of Rhode Island: Route 6, Waddington Elementary School, and Providence. All I could focus on was that before long it would come to an end. And soon enough, my dad’s beat-up white car slowly pulled up in front of my house. The weather reflected the mood of the day: it was pouring rain, the wind was blowing at high speeds, and the sky was dark, despite the fact that it was only late afternoon. My dad and I both stepped out of the car and into the rain. In our many conversations about his moving, he told me that the best way to say goodbye is to hug, look each other in the eye, say “I love you,” and then walk away without looking back. The last part was key, he said. It was important to keep walking straight into the house. Of course, in my tearful state, it was difficult to remember this, so my dad talked me through it.
With the wind howling around us, my dad hugged me as tightly as he could. At this point I didn’t even try to hold back the tears. The cold rain mixed with the saline taste of tears that streaked my cheeks. My dad’s light blue eyes looked into mine, and I could see that this was incredibly hard for him.
“I love you, Brianna,” he said.
“I love you too,” I managed to choke out. He gave me one last look, and then told me to it was time for him to go.
Walking away from my dad was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. He flew back to visit three weeks later and Evan and I started visiting him in Texas every three months, but it took two years for me to be able to say goodbye to him without it being incredibly emotional.
Now I’m in college in Florida, a long way from home in Rhode Island. After my dad and I finished decorating my small dorm room, I sat on Landis Green, admiring the beauty of the campus and the way that the Spanish moss hung off each tree perfectly, as if being carefully placed at the ends of the branches. The warm Florida sun streamed onto my face, and I found that I was able to better understand and appreciate why my dad moved away. He and I are similar in that neither of us was happy in Rhode Island. Throughout my search for the perfect college to attend, I knew that in order for me to fully grow as a person and become independent I had to leave my friends and family back home for a larger place where I could continue to work towards my career goals. As I looked at the blur of unfamiliar faces walking by me, I could relate to his going to a new place where he didn’t know anyone.
Though it was almost four years ago, I thought about that stormy day as I absentmindedly played with the soft grass that sprawled across Landis. Although I will always wish that my dad hadn’t moved, the distance has strengthened our relationship. My dad has become my rock or my “safety net” as he likes to call it. He has an answer for everything, and is able to help me transition into becoming an adult, from answering questions about banking to giving me advice on how to achieve academic success in college. I still wish that my dad could have been close by for my high school years, but I fully understand why he had to leave. Looking around at what will become my new life, I realize that I’m finally at peace with it.
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