When I entered the world, my dad was a juvenile delinquent.
He was well known by police in two states stretching from San Antonio to Lawton, Oklahoma. There are so many stories (many I’m certain I still don’t know).
I mean, he was a 17-year-old high school dropout when he became a dad.
I recently learned he used to walk my uncle, who was like 8 at the time, across a couple of highways and a handful of miles to go to my mom’s house. There the two teenage lovebirds would “talk” for a bit, while my uncle sat on the porch as lookout. Less than a year later I was born. (Kids, don’t “talk” to the opposite sex until you’re out of school.)
I’m guessing he had rock ’n’ roll dreams before I crashed the party.
My early childhood was overloaded with it.
There were guitars and amps cranked up to an audible hum, gurgling bongs, Little King beers, records and MTV.
There was also me.
I'm definitely peeing in the pool.
The juvenile delinquent pulled his long hair into a ponytail, put on his big boy pants and got a job half a mile from our trailer.
He started out on the brush crew for the Claremore Electric Department. These are the guys, who spend their days clearing tree branches and such from obstructing power lines.
While he worked, my mom and I watched music videos as she recorded them on the VCR. When my dad came home, we watched those videos again. It was the early 80s when MTV only showed videos, but the VHS copies allowed him to fast forward through commercials and the stuff he didn’t like.
When we weren’t watching music videos, we were listening to his vinyl collection comprised of the rock gods.
It was this environment that made me a music junkie. When I was three it was like injecting Van Halen and Sammy Hagar (years before they paired up) directly into my veins. He also educated me on the blues (Stevie Ray Vaughan is his all-time favorite). He also encouraged me to chase my own tastes and bought me rap cassettes.
My dad wasn’t the best partner to my mom, and he struggled with parenthood. There were daily visits to the only bar in town, The Tack Room, for happy hour. He would get off work at 3:30 and then go there for a couple hours. I knew what time to go wait by the door to get his loose change, which I would then push through the hole of my Smurf or Mr. T bank.
He had anger issues. There were fights. Lots of them. Lots of yelling. Some violence. The occasional visit from Rogers County deputies and city cops. (I learned the difference very early.)
By the time my dad was a father of two and I was headed to kindergarten, he and my mom split. He was 22 at the time.
My dad moved into a tiny apartment at the end of a dead end road where there was a bicycle course. Dirt ramps and all. About six years later I’d return to the track to dominate it. In the apartment, our furniture consisted of folding chairs and a cheap table. There was a small color TV.
He’d move once again before settling into his final Claremore home, which he bought around the corner from my mom’s house, so I could go over to his house anytime. They were so close to each other I could stand in the backyard at one house and wave at the other parent. They evenly split visitation, but there were plenty of evenings I’d walk over to my dad’s to eat dinner then go back to my mom’s house.
Throughout this process the delinquent grew up.
Sure he had his wild times, but he was extremely responsible in our upbringing. Definitely the yin to the yang to the other side of my life.
He coached my little league baseball teams. He eventually sold the boats and the fishing tackle because of my baseball schedules. I quit playing shortly after.
The first (and only) time my dad didn't coach me in little league I won my first championship. Two years later, he'd lead my team to another one.
He always paid the child support. He bought my clothes. Gave me money for the book fair. He paid for my school lunches.
When I was in third or fourth grade I started pocketing my lunch money instead of eating, so I could buy baseball cards. After a week or two, he caught on to how I was magically coming up with cash for cardboard, so he started writing $1 checks for my lunch. I thought checks were like cash, just with his name on it. After another week he came and asked if I had those checks. Knowing I was caught, I handed them over and then learned how banking works. Life lesson! Thankfully he didn’t make me to try to buy any baseball cards with checks made out to Claremont Elementary. That would have been embarrassing.
While it was the Wild West at my mom’s, there was way more discipline at my dad’s. He made us do chores. I started cutting the grass when I was old enough to push the mower, which also provided me a legit source of income to put toward my card collection.
My dad taught me how to change the oil in the vehicles and other basic mechanic skills. When I turned 16, he gave me the keys to the truck he purchased shortly after I was born. The stipulation was I had to pay for gas and maintain the upkeep on the Ford F100. This meant I had to get a job. I haven’t stopped working since.
His work ethic rubbed off on me. It’s something he got from his dad.
Throughout my childhood, I watched my dad rise in power at the electric department. I watched him go from operating a chainsaw to sitting behind a desk as superintendent overseeing a staff of more than 20 people in a public service. I was always super proud to go to his work and visit his office. I also watched his long hair be cut down to a mullet, which he proudly displayed for many years. I’ve since been trying to get him to grow a fresh, new one.
It should be noted that electricians do not get enough credit for their work. There were plenty of nights that while I slept through the night, my dad was out working to repair damaged lines or blown transformers in the midst of a thunder storm.
When politics came into play, during a testy time within the City of Claremore, my dad refused to be a “yes man” and got laid off after more than 20 years of service to the city. We both share this trait. I probably shoot it too straight. Always have. Probably always will.
Knowing he had to keep working, he sucked it up and started work as a safety manager for a trucking company in Tulsa. Another life lesson learned! There is always work to be done as long as you’re willing to do it.
After this photo he told me I smelled like stale liquor. That was a heck of a party the night before graduation.
After a few years he moved to south Texas to be closer to my grandpa. It was there he finally completed his metamorphosis to become an incredible human being.
As I’ve grown older, we’ve become a lot closer. What once was a father/son relationship where a teenager tries to figure out what the hell he’s doing has evolved to more of a friendship. My respect for him has ascended the stratosphere and continues to rise.
We used to never talk about stuff. As we both matured we became more open with each other. In the weeks leading up to my divorce, I finally had enough. I was on the verge of a mental breakdown. I took Odin and drove the 10 hours south to literally run away from my problems for a few days. It was the second night there when I told him I feared my brief marriage was over. I was devastated. Felt like a failure. His response to me was beautiful. I’ll never forget it.
“There is nothing I can say or do to fix the problem, but I’m always here for you. If you ever want to talk I’m here to listen.”
It was the perfect answer. There were people at home who wanted to help and plenty had advice of things I should do to make it work. It was such a relief to hear someone say that.
That answer wouldn’t have come out of the mouth of the 17-year-old version of him, but it was all the life lessons that educated him and helped get him to that moment. It’s one of many in recent years.
I’m extremely proud of the man and the dad he has become.
Three smartasses.
Late last year, I stood by his side as his father passed away. He handled the life-altering situation with such strength and grace. I hope that when the time comes for him to go (200 years from now), I will handle everything as stoically as he handled the loss of his father. The momentous event brought us even closer together as we spent a week preparing the memorial service and dealing with family during a very stressful time.
After the new year, I decided I was finished with my career. I called to discuss it with my dad and laid out my immediate game plan. He knew I hated my job and it was crushing my soul. I expected the “hang in there until you find another job.” Nope. Instead he told me to take the leap. He said, “go to work and quit this week. Stop thinking about it and go for it if it will make you feel better.” He told me how much he believed in me and my talents and how he believed I could do anything I wanted. Such a damn optimist. I obviously took his advice.
Over the last decade he’s mellowed out and become more zen-like with age. He recently told me he likes to take time to stand in grass barefoot to naturally balance the charge in his body. It’s so cute to imagine him out in his front yard taking in the earth. What a hippy! (I also do this now because of his enthusiasm for it. It’s called “grounding” or “earthing.”)
My dad has always been a constant source of strength for me even when I didn’t recognize it. He’s been an outstanding teacher by literally showing me what not to do at times and then at times educating me on life’s lessons. He’s supported all my endeavors. He’s someone I look up to more now than I ever have.
Tim Landes Sr. (photo by Dianna Landes)
I’d be remiss to not credit my stepmom, Dianna, for helping make my dad who he is today. They’ve been partners since the mid 90s and married nearly two decades. Their relationship also gave my dad a new opportunity to raise my stepsister, who lived with them full-time for nearly all the way through her adolescence. It’s been amazing to see him get another shot at being a dad at a very different stage in his life.
Thank you, Dad, for everything you’ve done and continue to do. Happy Father’s Day! Now crank it up to 11 and let ‘er rip.