…playing host

There’s something about our imagination that tends to distort our memories. We remember things as a mix of how it actually happened and how we wanted it to happen. Just like anything, if you have more angles to see from, you get a more complete picture. Sharing experiences with another person gives you both an additional angle to look at the memories from – and everybody loves a clearer picture.

A few weeks ago, my dad hopped the pond. I met him at the airport with a name-card and cheesy grin ready to go. After almost three months of living on the other side of the world, I had a chance to put real memories with the stories I have been telling all along. With just three months of experience under my belt, suddenly I was playing host.

There is a different dynamic to experiencing a place when you act as host. As the great philosopher George Clooney once said: “Hosting is work. It means you don’t get to go up to your room and disappear and take a nap.” In a city where daily siestas are somewhat expected, that means something.

Embarking on a new adventure, I guided a tour of Seville with a decent amount of forged confidence. We climbed the giant metal waffles/mushrooms (which have to be seen in person to realize just how not-mushroomy they are, considering that’s their name), wandered the Alcazar gardens, and got tapas – Seville in a nutshell. We spent a day in Ronda, a city a few hours south, famous for its 400-foot tall, stone bridge. Cliffs and waterfalls (and the most satisfying salad that has ever been tossed) made for a memorable day.

After a five hour drive to, and an hour drive in, Madrid, we toured Santiago Bernabéu – the stadium for Real Madrid C.F. It took some hassle and a fantastic cab driver, but we got our tickets to the game that night. A dream years in the making came true in the 92nd minute as Ronaldo put a shot into the back of the net, sending the home crowd into a frenzy. I always hoped I would see that shot while in Spain, but I never imagined having my dad standing next to me as it happened; that part of the memory means more than the goal.

Just a few days in a stretch of a few months confirmed what I had begun to conclude on my own: the dinner guests are more important than the food on the plate, (figuratively speaking). It’s an incredible world that God designed, but it’s the pièce de résistance of creation – mankind – that makes the memories count. Playing host means putting in work, and the picture is clear – it’s worth having a guest.

Post-blog note: Thank you, Dad, for joining me on adventures in Spain. If given the option to spend a day in Madrid with you or Cristiano, I’d (probably) choose you every time.