Zephyrus of the Anemoi

Last night, while I was taking a shower before bed, something my cousin mentioned on Twitter came to mind. He had been talking about Alan Thicke, and during the course of the day I attempted to find Alan Thicke on Twitter. I found an account (which is most likely not his) that referred to him as “America’s Favorite Dad”.

And so it happened that last night, while in the shower, I decided to create a list of The 5 Greatest Father Figures in Television History. The only problem, of course, that I haven’t seen every television show in history. As a result, I will accept contentions so long as valid reasoning is included.

So without further ado, my list:

1. Jason Seaver – played by Alan Thicke, “Growing Pains” – Any child of the 80s remembers Mr. Seaver. He’s the father we all wished we had—unless you liked your dad, as I did. He was cooler than most, he had a deep, imposing “dad” voice, and he had excellent hair. It’s safe to say he trumps all other father figures on television.
2. Rupert Giles – played by Anthony Stewart Head, “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” – While not a father on the show, Giles was the closest thing that Buffy ever had to a father during the course of the show’s 7-year run (despite her own dad making an appearance a few times). Best of all, he was the kind of father that could kick serious demon ass, when necessary (though like Bruce Banner into Hulk, rage was a necessary factor).
3. Cliff Huxtable – played by Bill Cosby, “The Cosby Show” – I spent a great deal of time with Dr. Huxtable during the years, probably more than any other TV dad. My father loved “The Cosby Show”, which meant we all watched it and loved it as well. He helped me prepare for my time as a father immensely. He taught me that sometimes your children will say and do something that leaves you utterly speechless, and your best response is to simply laugh, inwardly if necessary.
4. Ward Cleaver – played by Hugh Beaumont, “Leave It to Beaver” – The first televised father figure for most of us, and a favored memory even if he isn’t. Stern, yet fair, Mr. Cleaver is a paragon of fatherhood in the ’50s and as strong an example of a patriarchal society you will ever find on television.
5. Andy Taylor – played by Andy Griffith, “The Andy Griffith Show” – Andy Griffith has been a part of television for many years and is the quintessential “small-town father”. While some strong similarities to Ward Cleaver, Mr. Taylor was a far more jovial fellow and a much more rounded character. Instead of being a stereotype, Griffith portrayed a well-rounded character seen in a great many situations (likely due to the fact that he was the titular character).

The rifle stock pressed firmly against my shoulder. A bead of sweat slid lazily through my right eyebrow. I knew it would be a problem soon, but I shrugged it off. My head tilted awkwardly to one side, as I struggled to peer through the eyepiece of the scope on the rifle. I was no marksman. I wasn’t afraid to admit that.

I slowly exhaled and let the crosshairs fall across the target. Nice and easy, I thought to myself. One more breath.

The bead of sweat dripped from my brow and into my eye. It stung a little, but not as much as missing my mark would. I took a deep breath and held it for a 2-count. I exhaled. My finger shifted ever-so-slightly.

Fwip.

The pellet gun made barely a sound as the round was thrust mightily from the chamber, down the barrel and across the backyard toward the target: an aluminum can propped up on a cardboard box. I listened for the tell-tale metal-on-metal crunch that meant I’d scored a hit. I watched intently for that moment when the can, filled to the brim with water from the old caulk bucket the dog drinks from, exploded in a spray of sparkling light reflected skyward.

Nothing. Missed again.

The chuckle came from behind me, as I lowered the rifle and proceeded to offer it to my dad.

“You missed,” he prodded. “The point is to hit the can, you know.”

“You haven’t hit it yet either,” I retorted, a little more defensively than I expected. He took the rifle from my hands and loaded another pellet. His massive arms primed the rifle for another shot.

“No, but I’m going to hit it before you will.”

Big talk. From both of us. Only minutes earlier, my 7-year old son fired his very first shot and hit the target dead-on. I’d never been more proud in my life, and I abhorred violence.

“Your grandson hit it before you did. First try.”

Dad laughed. There was a mixture of pride and jealousy in his voice as he said, “Little shit.” We both laughed. My dad was funny when he cursed. It was one of his more endearing traits.

He took aim. He didn’t waste time trying to calm himself. He didn’t try any breathing techniques to steady his shot. He just pointed, sighted, and fired.

He missed.

I took the rifle from him and put my pellet into the chamber. I took my shot. I missed.

I shrugged and handed Dad the rifle. “Why don’t you just hit it already, so our pissing match can be over.”

He took the rifle, loaded it, and steadied it in his hands. I looked on in silence as a calm fell across the yard. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as his finger tightened.

The can erupted in a brilliant display of color. Sunlight fractured as it passed through hundreds of water droplets. A loud twang resounded across the cornfield, ripe and ready for harvest. The can spun in place, torn nearly in two by the force of the water begging to escape through the newly-formed rupture. It must have taken less than a second, but it felt like ten. The can fell off the back of the cardboard box. Water was already soaking into the corrugated paper, leaving a mark behind. Like bloodstains, reminding any unfortunate passer-by that something horrendous had happened in that very spot.

“Your shot,” he said, as he handed me the rifle. I took it without a word, and grinned.

A couple weekends ago, I got invited to my friend’s house to play some Dungeons & Dragons 3.5 edition. I haven’t had an opportunity to play real D&D since I was in high school, and so I was pretty out of practice. I’m pretty sure I used either the 2.0 or 2.5 ruleset back then, as THAC0 was still around. I only played once and while I had fun, I didn’t get to really experience the whole of the game.

Some time later, Bioware released Neverwinter Nights for the computer, and I got to experience the game again with the new d20 system that was part of the 3.0 and 3.5 ruleset. Unfortunately, a computer game just doesn’t have the same social and roleplaying aspect that sitting around a table with your friends does.

Thankfully, I got the opportunity to play with Crusher, et al. I decided to roll a Half-Elf Wizard, and he actually turned out to be pretty badass. I chose a Wizard so that I could really try some unique methods to resolving combat and other encounters. It really made the game more enjoyable to be able to work around within the rules of the game to try options other than just murdering everything that moves.

In our earliest encounter, we all fell asleep in an inn and during the night woke to find black-clad assassins fighting the city watch. After a few interesting combat maneuvers (such as one of our party leaping from the balcony to crush the assassin below), we set out on a quest to recover the kidnapped son of the local baron. During our journey, we were set upon by a band of gnolls while passing through a valley. The combat was quick and bloody, with one gnoll left alive for information. We soon discovered that the gnolls mistook us for some humans that had attacked a hideout nearby. These gnolls were part of a raiding party on their way to free their comrades.

We quickly reached the hideout and brought our new gnoll friend with us. Once inside, however, we discovered many dead bodies of human and gnoll alike. In the main room we discovered a battle between them. A battle ensued in which the party did their best to knock unconscious as many gnolls and humans as they could to attempt to get to the bottom of this mess. One of the more entertaining moments of the night happened when one player misunderstood why we were attacking the gnolls and turned on another player. In the end, it provided some excellent character development.

Unfortunately, while searching the other passages, the gnolls escaped, killed the remaining humans (it’s okay, they were evil, anyway), and fled. Soon after we discovered the advisor to the baron had kidnapped the baron’s son and charmed him. We returned to the baron’s castle, but could not convince them that anything was wrong with the baron’s son. The baron died that evening and we quickly found ourselves in prison.

Throughout the campaign, one of the players (the usual DM and a rather argumentative father of one of the other players) fought with Crusher over many of his and the party’s decisions. Mostly he was frustrated that we didn’t kill everything we met. He was quite happy to find the party had no qualms about killing guards that were under the baron’s advisor’s control.

We managed to kill the advisor, free the baron’s son and seek out an inn for the night. It was a very exciting evening and one I hope to repeat soon. I also hope to get some 4th edition rule books so that I can start my own campaign with some other friends and family members that might be interested. I’ll write more if and when I get the chance to play again.

Yesterday was my 30th birthday, and while it’s a milestone that can bring some heavy baggage to bear, it passed without incident. I even received an amazing gift from my wife that was very unexpected: a t-shirt with some Super Mario power-ups sewn on.

She says she’s making me a second one, as well, so I’ll be sure to post that as soon as it’s complete.

As for the birthday itself, I had to work. It was a pretty busy day, thanks to its being the first day back from winter break. But it passed smoothly enough.

I spent the evening playing video games (Marvel Ultimate Alliance, to be exact — I received the sequel for Christmas and I’m trying to finish the first before I play it), and enjoyed a good meal and a wonderful cake (butter vanilla cake, cut in two with strawberries in-between, and topped with cream cheese frosting).

I was struck with a thought yesterday, though, while at work. I’m 30 years old. I have spent 30 years struggling to breathe, eat, and just live on this planet. I haven’t composed a masterwok of storytelling as I’d always expected. What I’ve done instead is raise a remarkable young man in Avery, and started down a successive path with Liam. I’ve married an amazing woman that puts up with my bullshit better than anyone else, and loves me through it all.

I’ve even managed to finally find a way to get back to what I love with the impending creation of Dead Wait, and while I’m in front of the camera, instead of behind it, acting is the very thing that got me interested in this business in the first place.

I don’t have any regrets about what I’ve done with my life and I’d make the same decisions again in a heartbeat. How many can say that about turning 30?