Fatherly Obsessions- The Quest For Hidden Gold

In my family, everyone gets obsessions. On one day one of us may be living and breathing photography, and the next day we may have moved on to woodcarving. Our obsessions are neither healthy nor rational and they can even consume us for months at a time! Unfortunately, my dad has always been the very worst when it came to them...

It was a hot autumn day when my Dad proudly announced that he was going to embark on a mission to discover all the hidden treasures Minnesota had to offer. We gawked at him and rolled our eyes, until, the next day, he came home with seven metal detectors.

Everyone in my family got a metal detector (and my Dad got three- each good for different reasons) and we were dragged out every weekend (and many evenings in-between) for metal detecting lessons. My dad brought home videos on how to use the Garrett Metal Detectors efficiently, and subscribed to dozens of treasure hunting magazines. My mom was much more tolerant of his whole obsession than I ever would be- I think she was praying that the whole idea would just burn out. Unfortunately, his visits to the local Minnesota Metal Detecting Club just spurred him on. People at the club would come carrying precious gold coins, diamond-covered bracelets, and ancient, rare artifacts found from small parks in the Twin Cities. My Dad only ever found around 55 cents in change on each of his trips.

As months went by my Dad's metal detecting obsession got worse. In the winter he would be out in the frozen ground, sweeping his detector back and forth. Some days he would be gone until Midnight. My brother, sister, and I had stopped volunteering to go along, knowing that the most valuable thing he had ever found was a small, gold-plated bracelet (hardly worth anything). He spent thousands of dollars on buying new metal detectors (he currently has seven or more), and even bought an underwater one, so that he could metal detect from the edge of the lake. None of us knew how to make the obsession go away!

As the cold, snowy months of winter beat against our home it soon became too cold for even a crazy man like my dad to head out. He would look out the window longingly, sigh, and then go back to his work. When summer came the luster of metal detecting seemed to have gone, and he only headed out on his quest for treasure twice a week, always coming back with a few middle-aged coins and a disappointed look on his face.

Now, my dad has moved on to other things. I don't know whether I'm glad or not. The metal detectors are coated in dust in the garage, just like his cameras, machining tools, and other relics from old obsessions. There's only one thing I'm worried about... yesterday he said he might be interested in... biking.