So I went back to Akron for vacation a few weeks ago. Why Akron? Well if you haven’t heard that Akron is a booming vacation destination where the East Bay goes to play…….you’re not alone. Actually my dad still lives there. He won’t come out here to see me so if I want to be a good progeny, I have to fly back there. His buddy won him some free flight certificates from Continental, so it was cheap and I needed some time off.
I was excited to see him even though I wasn’t looking forward to staying with him. He’s a heavy smoker and has an old cat. When I lived there I was used to it but, lately I’ve become more and more sensitive to the smell of litter box and smoke.
I got there and the limo ride from the airport (since the tix were free he sprung for a limo to save him the trip into Cleveland) had me pretty relaxed. As I started to recognize where I was, the memories came flooding back, and my initial apprehension soon turned into anticipation. I was really looking forward to my first morning drinking coffee on the porch. The weather was cooperating and I had the driver kill the AC in favor of rolling with the windows open. I would enjoy myself whether my room smelled of cat pee or not.
When I got there dad was sad to inform me that Carmello (Carmie the kitty) was in kitty heaven. I was mildly bummed as she was the longest lasting relationship he had ever had with a female, but at the same time relieved that her smell was gone with her. It seems petty but it made a big difference in how well the week went.
The first big shocker was Dad’s new look. The dope-smokin’, hippie, atheist, biker went from his signature shades and irresponsibly long hair..
To a total baldie
and he got a labret in his lip. Not as noticeable.
That’s my Dad 
So the first night we hung out. Drank. And got caught up. I met his roommate Aggro. Cool kid that Aggro. He looks pretty intimidating as a short stocky dude with a fair bit a facial metal. Obviously some one who will fight at the drop of a hat, and has been in a fight with little provocation. But He’s mellowing out since meeting dad and he’s a lot smarter than he thinks he is. He understands dad’s systems (the house has been retrofitted with solar and wind power, and rain water collected off the roof is treated in the basement and pumped through the house as grey and potable water) and he gets the nuances of Backgammon.
I had to show dad I haven’t forgotten how to play. Drunken shit-talking over a game of stones and dice has been entertainment for hundreds of years. Good thing for them we weren’t playing for money.
The second day dad let me take his new Harley out for a cruise around Akron. I wanted to check out down town. See my old haunts and check out some of the blight of abandonment that is slowly taking hold. Since all the tire manufacturers have shut down almost all of the production jobs have left. The Unionized Johnny Punchclocks that could raise a family well with nothing more than a decent work ethic and a high tolerance for repetitive manual labor, just can’t pay the mortgage anymore. Gone are the work-a-day bread winners buying cars and appliances and making the kids cut grass and shovel snow for lunch money. They have been replaced by retirees that were lucky enough to to hit the retirement silk before they got laid off (like dad) and those that weren’t prepared. The new production industry is to make babies to increase the free benefits they get from Uncle Sam. Many in my generation went to work just like their dads and grandads but the gravy train pulled out of the station and they didn’t have a ticket.
As I ride around the factories sit abandoned and quiet. The reverberation of dad’s big inch hog, as I slowly blat around the loading docks, is deafening. But not too many years ago the roaring din of loud production machinery would have made it barely noticeable. Totally abandoned with a broken window here or there. It’s sad. But pristine which is even sadder. It’s like it’s not even worth it to hit up some graffiti or for taggers to leave a mark. The functional architecture that is a cathedral of grit and stench, that not even delinguents and vandals want. A place where the amount of coal, sweat, and petrochemicals that could be turned into noxious fumes and tires determined whether your kids went to Ohio State or Cuyahoga Community College. The stuff built by generations of callous hands, has been reduced to a cool backdrop for a picture of some dude on a bike.
That night I hung out and we got drunk. Again. We were chillin by the fire till the wee hours.
We quickly fell into the old routine. Aggro would get home from work. We would start drinking, hangout on the porch and play backgammon till it got dark. Then build a fire, cook some meat, eat and pass the fuck out. Wake up and wait for Aggro to get home from work so we could do it all over again.
One of the days I took dad’s bike back out to Cuyahoga Falls. this is where I graduated high school from and it has changed very little. Once again I would ride around tracing my familiar feelings and yet continually getting lost.
I went back to my old school.
It didn’t make me feel as nostalgic as I thought it would. My memories are attached to the people that went to school here with me. Not so much with this place in and of itself. Honestly those people are so far from me, geographically and also not that close to my heart really, that I can’t say that I miss them. I would be glad to see them and interested to know what happened to them over the years. Just not interested enough to really seek them out. As a teenager I had very little in common with them, and coming into the scene as a senior left no time to build real bonds. The circles of friends were closed loops by the time I got there. As social as I was, they were not.
Dad introduced me to the guy that used to be the big cheese in this powerhouse back in the day. He was bitter and drunk. We shook hands from adjacent barstools. Most of the people I met and shook hands with from adjacent barstools, were the big cheese of something back in the day. Now they were pleased to be able to tell all the stories of how it used to be, to a fresh set of ears. Ears that hadn’t heard the tales of hardship. It was always the “damn CEO” or “fucking outsourcing” or “NAFTA” that was to blame for them being there. Part of me feels sorry for their circumstance, but another part wonders. I wont get into it here on this blog but there is something to be said for recognizing that there are always choices you can make. But how long can a company be profitable when they have to pay a guy 30 some bucks an hour for a job that can be accomplished with a few thousand dollars in switches and solenoids. Maybe all those years of union dues should have been spent on a vocational school’s computer class. If your only skill is opening a valve when the needle on a gauge hits the red, learning to weld or how to tend a bar might be a good back up plan.
Anyway
One of the great highlights was riding with my dad. The girls that he sold my old bike to offered to let me ride my old KZ750 for a few days. That was fun. That was the warm fuzzy feeling I was looking for. As I was bombing around on that thing I remembered why I liked riding in the first place. Riding though the lush wet greenery of the rolling hills of northeast Ohio took me right back. Feeling the frame flex and the wallowing suspension make a smooth line through a corner impossible to hold, is what riding is about. Passing some chrome laden bagger with some dude on it in shorts and sunglasses feeling cool. Throwing out a wave to get the wave back. It’s us against them buddy, ride safe.
Me and dad rode together for a day. The obligatory visit with the rest of the fam was tops on our “to do” list. It was more like the tour of Geriatrics and Pediatrics. It’s almost like your worth, in my family,is determined by how long you can hang on to a pulse and how many kids you crank out. A lot of my family that are close to my age would be great to talk to, Intelligent conversation among adults would be abundant, but they are almost unbearable to see when children are present. No matter how interested they are in my response to the usual query of “so how’s things in California” I get put on hold for the most mundane of displays.
“Oh look he balled up a piece of paper” “Yes darling that is a very nice coloring” “I don’t no what kind of bug that is” “Yes you may have one piece of candy” “did you make a stinkie?”
Turning to me she says “What were you saying [motoproponent]?”
Me “Oh I was saying that the job is going great , I’m trying to find a house to finally buy….”
Turning back to the kids”Yes dear it’s a motorcycle” “No you can’t go to the neighbor’s house” “You may jump on the trampoline” “do you need some water” “Juice?” “Take your cousin in the house to pee”
Back to me “I’m sorry you were saying?”
Me “Oh I was just saying how exciting it is to watch you talk to children. That’s all the time I have. Next year I’ll try to come by during nap time so we can have a conversation”
The funny thing was that all the references to where I lived, what I was doing for a job, and how close I was to finding the next Mrs. Moto are all from when they didn’t have kids that could walk and talk. Every time I visit they are so distracted I might as well have not come at all.
“Are you still cooking?”
“How’s Lake Tahoe?”
“Are you still with the Airline?”
“Are you still dating that girl with the Ducati motorcycle?
so on, and so on.
I had a good time but when the Limo driver showed up to take me back to the Airport, I was ready to go. I had him swing through the local burger joint drive through window. I bought him lunch and a coke. He was a cool dude and we shared a lot of stories. I munched on my burger and curly fries and reflected on the week, slowly massaging my liver like it was sore.
That’s what a vacation is for right? So when you have an hour to spend with a stranger in a limo, you have a good story to tell to pass the time.
2 Comments
June 15, 2008 at 3:19 am
“The circles of friends were closed loops by the time I got there. As social as I was, they were not.”
You did have a circle and they did: “Wander how he’s doing.”, “Think he’s dong okay?”, “I sure do miss him.” from those that missed you (and that was more than you think). The empty seat you left never was filled.
June 15, 2008 at 3:20 am
Um, that’s doing…what a typo…