I spent 12 days in North Vancouver in June, visiting a friend, working, and spending time with my 19-year-old son.
He lives and studies at British Columbia Institute of Technology, where he is learning to be a machinist. He adores it. I adore seeing him adoring it.
The week I was planning to go, he had a bike accident, with a small fracture on his ring finger. And asked me to come earlier. I did.
The accident didn’t demand my attention, but moving to a new dorm on campus did. And I happily helped him move to his new home for the summer.
We met almost every day during my stay. And this was not imposed by me. In fact, I was quite surprised when every day I got a message with some kind of invitation to meet, go out for dinner, or spend time with friends!
We always have things to talk about. His exciting new life. Our trip together. Plans for the (near) future.
But what I like the most is when he shares his knowledge with me, like when he took me to a mountain in North Vancouver and explained the history of freestyle mountain biking.
It’s fascinating to see him growing — yes, I know, it’s a cliché. But after so much, seeing his mind developing is a pleasure and a testimony to the saying that an apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
A mix of his mom and dad, my son developed his own things without going too far from some of our passions. Let me explain. His dad was an incredible artist and extremely good with his hands: he created miniatures, he mounted his own bikes, he even built a small sailboat!
My son had very short 5.5 years to get to know his dad, but developed, without his direct influence, the same passions and capacities.
As a mountaineer, I have always been fascinated with mountain history. I never told him that, but during this trip I found out he reads and got into the development of the sport he practices. Fascinating!
I keep thinking about how little time he actually had with his father, and how much of him showed up anyway — not taught, not copied, just there, waiting to surface at the right mountain, on the right day. Genetics can’t explain all of it. Maybe some things really do pass down in ways we don’t have a word for yet.
All I know is that I stood on the end of that trail listening to my son talk about a sport his father never lived to see him practice, and for a moment, it felt like both of them were teaching me something.
Leave a Reply