By most measures, Day 1 of the Pigrimage was successful. And yet there was something weighing on me.

I get that this whole thing is over the top. Flying across the country to get a grill and drive it back is a little crazy. I could have marked the 10th anniversary of my father’s passing with a simple raise of a cold beer, at home, and that would have been just fine.

But eastern North Carolina is the spiritual center of pig-pickins, my father’s hometown, and his final resting place. But more than that, designing this journey is really a way of carving out space in my life to take another kind of journey — to discover what my dad meant in my life and in the lives of others. There is a lot of time for contemplation built into a drive this long.

Chuck Allen Sr. was a simple man and yet complicated. On one hand, he was the life of every party and loved by most everyone. He never met a stranger and you always knew where you stood with him. He was fiercely independent and strong of conviction. Simple.

On the other hand, my dad behaved in ways as a spouse, father and citizen that — especially by today’s standards — were simply horrible, with lasting negative effects on people that I love. Nothing criminal or illegal, but certainly not cool to say the least. He is not here to defend himself, so you may take my comments as one-sided… though I believe that if he were here, he wouldn’t argue.

It was this very poor behavior, coupled with my seeming adoration of him, that led one of my daughters to muster the courage to call me a few days ago. Her voice shook a little as she asked me how I could go through all of this effort and expense and excitement when she has come to understand that the grandad she adored as a young child didn’t match the picture of him she once had.

I love that she trusted me enough to ask the question; it forced some self examination and an explanation.

I don’t make excuses for other people, including my dad. And at this stage in my life, I also don’t stand in judgment. We are the products of our environments and genes and decisions. My dad grew up in a sharecropping family, traveling around eastern NC working the tobacco and cotton fields from morning until night. He was one of 13 children who all left home as soon as they were old enough… largely to kick off lives that didn’t include the backbreaking work in the fields. He landed in Washington DC, where I was born. These first twenty years strongly shaped his views on race, work, fun, parenting, and what it means to be a husband.

When I gave his eulogy, I led with something everyone knew: “He wasn’t the perfect father, but he was the perfect father for me.” I believe all of us are wounded by our parents in one way or another, sometimes in ways that don’t show up until later in life. I also believe it’s our choice to decide how we respond to it. If I’m a better father than he was, could you say that he did his job? If I’m a better spouse than he was, was he the example I needed to witness to make better decisions in my own life? For me, I believe I was given what I need.

A friend I’ve known since high school reached out to me this morning to say that my journey this week has her thinking of her own father, who passed away five years ago. She was driving some backroads of Tennessee and heard some songs that she shared with me—songs that are perfect for the soundtrack of this contemplative journey. And then she said something that absolutely resonated with me. She said:

I always loved his power, his convictions toward what he believed in… so as strong as my personality is.. I channel that ability to be hurtful , the potential to intimidate… by choosing to earn respect. I’m direct but from a place of passion. I honor my dad and his imperfections by trying to be a better version of what defined him.

I’m grateful she shared this with me, and I am hopeful that this journey will get more people thinking about how we respond to the ways we were shaped early on.

I talk a lot in my podcast about examine the scripts that we’ve inherited, and about being intentional about leaving behind the parts that do not serve, and honoring the parts that do. It’s part of designing a life of our choosing.

I love my dad and I respect him immensely. I see how he became who he was, and I admire the parts that he rose above, and I look with grace at the parts where he didn’t. In my life, I will do things that will wound my children and others that I love, and I hope that they will be able to extend me a measure of grace as well.

Ultimately, I’m grateful for my dad’s influence, both good and bad, and I look forward to honoring his memory on August 8th, when he’ll have been gone for ten years. I am better because of him.

I’ll leave you with a song recorded by my friend Tiffany, who reached out to me this morning. She recorded this for her own father, and it’s now part of the soundtrack of my journey this week.