Last night after meeting my family at the mall to run errands and help one another with some last minute gifts for the extended family, we parted ways to finish the days shopping and again meet at home. My Dad went home with me for the reason of dumping a pick-up truck full of garbage at his office and the fact that he is the key master. As we hopped in the truck and forced my super excited black lab into the extended cab, my mind went into flash back mode.
The normal chit-chat ensued as we talked about the weather, how the truck was running, deer hunting, Riley Cash (the dog), and my new relationship with Brittany. The time my father and I share, just he and I is so scattered and limited that when we have the opportunity to spend time together we resort to the old faithful topics of conversation reveling in the fact that the time together is what is truly more important.
As we drove my initial feeling was that of role reversal. Not the type like I was in diapers and now he is the way every child/parent relationship eventually ends up. But as the driver of the vehicle chauffeuring my Dad around I sensed that we were experiencing one another in a different way. I am twenty five years old this is not the first time my father has been a passenger in my truck but memory or one of my senses evoked a heightened emotional connection with the twenty minute drive home.
When I was little and riding around with my Dad, especially at Christmas time, it always felt like it was an adventure. Whether it was because we were looking for gifts for Mom, doing guy things, tooling around in his pick-up, or setting out to run simple errands that would somehow result in a candy bar for me, it was always exciting and meaningful. One of my first memories of riding with Dad was a trip to Natrona Heights to go to G.C. Murphy’s. I think it is safe to say that I am in the minority of twenty five year olds and definitely a member of the last generation to remember a five and dime store. This one was complete with soup counter and all. Now as a teacher of social studies and the civil rights movement, I can see the people lined up eating, protesting, sitting-in and making history when I think back to this store. It was before Christmas and I couldn’t have been older than seven. I know it was before Christmas because I would have been with Mom but she was shopping for presents. I have no idea what my dad bought that day and I’m pretty sure we stopped in to see my grandma for a bit afterwards as she lived nearby, but I remember him buying me a Milkshake candy bar. Now, non-existent, this was the most delicious of the candy bar family. I’m sure it was gone within three minutes of being back in the truck. Why did I remember this? I don’t know. Maybe I was just hungry for a candy bar.
As we turned down a side street of Butler last night on the way to dump the garbage, I caught the now closed and abandoned Butler Hot Dog Shop out of the corner of my eye. When I was in high school my parents decided that to pull in some extra cash for the family and to give me the opportunity to work and save for a car, that we would clean banks afterhours in Butler. Don’t get me wrong, this was not the worst gig in the world, but on a nightly basis Monday-Friday, this was not what a teenager had in mind as engaging after school activity. Washing dishes, dusting desks, emptying garbage cans, and scrubbing toilets was no fun. Period. But, it put money in the bank and eventually a 1996 gold Pontiac Grand Am on the road. The car, although a memory creator itself, is not what I remember most about the bank cleaning job. Instead, it was the morning we would clean the day after Christmas. Dad and I would get up early and run to Butler to get it done quick and out of the way for the day. Also, this gave my mom a break who had been staying up tending to family, food, or baking. As my Dad and I worked we were usually all business and knew that any down time or interaction would just prolong our time in the building. But, when we were done, on this day only, we would go out to lunch at the Butler Hot Dog Shop. Not that it was expensive or beyond our budget, it just became a tradition for us. Two hots with everything (chili, onion, and pickle) share a plate of fries and gravy, and a chocolate milkshake for me and a Coke for my Dad. I don’t remember a single conversation we ever had in the four or five years that we had the hot dog shop tradition but it meant more to me at that age than anything we did together. One day riding in his truck together, working together, and eating hot dogs together. With the exception of the opening day of trout season, this was the day I looked forward to most all year. The day after Christmas.
As my Dad and I drove home last night and continued to exchange banter, another childhood memory was dusted from the back corners of my memory bank. This one also occurred during the winter time and during my youth regularly between ages seven and ten. One year for Christmas, Santa was very generous and I received a Fisher-Price 3-1 Tournament Table. I can vaguely remember the commercial advertising pool, air hockey, and ping pong all in one! But, it must have been some good advertising because I was hooked. The table got set up in the spare bedroom and ended up seeing hours of father son action. I can’t say I recall my Mom ever playing but I bet at some point she did.
Dad and I had guy’s night on a regular basis when my Mom was out. The stereo in the living room would get cranked up louder than usual since “Mom wasn’t home” and we would play pool, air hockey, or ping pong for hours. The table couldn’t have been more than four feet long and I can remember being done for the night and literally dripping with sweat…it got intense. Why this memory flooded my mind last night is a bit less of a mystery. As I left my own house bound for the hour drive home I turned on the radio, a little louder than usual and soaked up some good old country music. The song that immediately came on was On The Other Hand by Randy Travis. Now days, I cannot do anything without thinking about Brittany. The focus on our future life together consumes me and drives everything I do. Upon hearing the song my mind went immediately to her. But hours later riding home with my Dad, the song made me think of the nights we use to play together. The cranked up radio almost ALWAYS made the house walls reverberate with Randy Travis tunes. As a little boy I was exposed to great music, with a great message at a young age. I would now rank Randy Travis in my top favorite country artists because I recognize his talents and my emotional connection to his music.
So what then did some time in a pick-up truck with my Dad mean to me last night? The world. He is a simple man. No flash. No frills. No fancy clothes, haircuts, cars, or possessions. And I love that about him. At twenty five, my Dad taught me a lesson last night without saying a word that he had been teaching me my whole life. “It’s not what you take, when you leave this world behind you, it’s what you leave behind you when you go.” Through all the times when he tried, and even when he didn’t have to try, my Dad was spending his time making his son into a man. One that would be kind-hearted, mild mannered, tough, and prepared for the world. I often wonder how my Dad practically gave up the things he loved; hunting, fishing, camping, and traveling west practically cold turkey but now I get it. He didn’t give any of it up, he passed it on. He might not physically take to the stream or the field but there is a lot of him that still does. The time he invested with his son in his truck, running errands, eating lunch, and playing games are the testament to what he will one day leave behind.
This morning I woke up and from two thousand miles away, and she was with me. I dreamed about her all night. I hugged the dog because she was the closest thing. And I thought of the foundation we are building and the life we will one day share. I considered several ups and downs that the future may hold. With her, nothing scares me because I know as a team; we will be able to overcome anything in our path. I thought about a wedding, dogs, a house, and…kids. Now that, is a little scary. But between the woman that I know she is and the background training I received from my Dad, I hope that like myself, the age old statement will again ring true, like father like son.
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