Sweat and leather

Memories sometimes have the funniest ways of drawing themselves out of the abstract and into the tangible level of experience, or existence. There are many things about my dad that I remember; (I don't speak of him in the past tense because he is dead, but simply because since they are memories I will be telling you about, the moment is dead. The events have already happened. Ergo, past tense) The particular one that came bursting into my consciousness a few minutes ago though, is his smell. There are two smells I remember clearly and associate with him. The first is his visiting smell, and the second his travel smell. When he would visit, he drove a lot. He would visit us, but couldn't stay there so he would drive between our house, Aunt Maria's in PA, and my sister Tanya's place in VA. Dad drank a lot of coffee, so he had to pee a lot. Between that and having to buy gas anyway, he spent a lot of time in gas stations. It always seemed that when he would get out of the car and we would hug, I would be saturated with an unusual mixture of gasoline, cigarettes, coffee, and Honey Buns. It never failed. I used to think that this combination existed as a single unit, and it was just what his detergent smelled like or something. Only later did I discover that it was made up of individual components that helped one to better understand his personality. The gas because his inability to stay committed to anything necessitated moving. The cigarettes were a vice he enjoyed which he knew was bad for him but continued to do anyway because well, fuck the world. Coffee was added because he did so much and needed some kind of pick me up, and the Honey Buns were quick and easy. This is perhaps an oversimplification, but I feel like at the very worst it's not far off the mark. The second smell, his travel smell, was brought to mind as I detected it wafting off of my own body today at the airport. Anytime we would greet him at the airport or he would drive straight home after a trip, again at the hug there would be an instantly recognizable scent. This time, it was simpler- sweat, cologne/ deodorant, and leather. When I got off the plane in Tokyo after 13 hours of flying, it all came back. I was wearing the same style of leather shoes he would always be wearing, and his suitcase was leather. I had been stuck in a seat for a day, so I was sweaty. And I had stopped in the men's room to try and mask the smell with a quick grab into my toiletry bag. I thought about all the places he had flown, only in the cockpit. Of all the airport announcements about unclaimed luggage he had heard, how many flight attendants had served him peanuts or pretzels, how many times he had said “Flight attendants please be seated for arrival”. It was a little surreal. The day you realize just how close to the proverbial tree your proverbial apple has fallen is an interesting one. And then you start to realize it in little ways, all the time. Despite not being there for most of my growing up years, he somehow influenced and shaped a huge part of who I am. I find it impossible to resist regularly stopping for a cup of coffee anytime I drive more than half a mile. I've been known to smoke one or two when I get really stressed. I have terrible eating habits. I wear the same leather boot-shoes, sweat like a mother and yet feel impressions are important enough to dress it up even when my arrival is in the dead of night and I KNOW I'm going to look a fright regardless. And you know what, I think I'm OK with all that. I am what I am. Don't get me wrong, I know There’s always room for improvement and every day I think what an idiot I was the day before. But that's the details part. The big picture? Life goes on, and it often goes on in the tracks of the generations before. This one's for you dad.