My Dad Stories about Dad and I throughout my life. I have exactly two heroes in my life. Dad is one and Mom is the other. If I could be just one-tenth the man my father is Id be a very happy camper. He sets a very high bar. The Post That Moved When I was 16 I learned to drive. I took the Drivers Ed course at De La Salle High School in New Orleans. I passed everything and was told by my dad that I couldnt drive until I was 18. I knew better than to attempt to negotiate some things and this was one of them. I was really disappointed. When I turned 18 I was the designated go for driver. Charles, will you go for this. Charles will you go for that. Charles, will you go for dinner. Charles, will you go for ... Well, you get the idea. One day I went for Popeyes Chicken. They have the best onion rings ever. As I was leaving the parking lot I gunned the Grenada in reverse and ran into the cement base of a light pole. I got out and surveyed the damage. The passenger side rear quarter panel had shifted into the back door which had shifted into the front door which had shifted into the front quarter panel. There was no way I could avoid telling day what had happened. I went home with my last meal determined not to look like a man on death row. Now, you need to understand my dad. He is not like other dads and after I got past my first two decades I finally realized just how great a guy he really was. I speak with him by phone at least once per month and make certain he knows I love him. I am certain he loves me. At age 18 I was still convinced that my father could love me dearly and kill me at the same time. He had only spanked me 3 times in my entire life and had never hit me. Not disappointing him was not necessarily my strong suit, but I had this nagging feeling that I should not return home. I could eat all the chicken and onion rings on my way out of town. After dinner I approached my dad. He was sitting outside watching the birds and drinking a beer. I sat next to him in one of those folding chairs and bared my soul. When I was 18 I measured 6 feet 7 inches tall in my bare feet. I had been playing basketball at 3 hours every day. I was no slouch. I was close enough to dad to be knocked across the yard and he was strong enough that I would be unconscious before I hit the ground. I am certain I would have easily cleared the fence and landed next door. I have never been able to confirm it, but I think dad always suspected that I was hiding a lot of my faults from him. He was right. One thing a Christian Brothers school, like De La Salle, teaches young men is how to be very deceptive. When I got into trouble I think a part of dad felt a little pride that I wasnt always that kid who received perfect scores in conduct. After hearing my tale of woe he asked me if I was hurt. I replied, No. The only damage is to the car, but the passenger side car doors could not be opened any longer. He smiled. I assumed he was so shocked at my story that he had gone insane with rage. The repair would easily cost $800. No small sum to my dad. This is what he said to me: Charles, when I was 12 I stole my dads Model A. I took it out into a field and ripped the transmission out on the car. When your grandfather came out to rescue me he only asked how I was, assessed the damage to the car and helped me tow it back to the barn. He taught me that any thing can be fixed, but humans sometimes couldnt be. I had never driven a standard transmission vehicle, but I understood that ripping a transmission could mean that you shifted gears wrong and ground the transmission gears. I understood what he was saying, but I had to dig my hole just a little deeper. I replied: Dad, I see what you are saying but you were 12 and grinding the gears is not the same as what I did to your car. Then he said between chuckles: No. Son. You dont understand I ran the Model A into a field and ran over a stump. When I stopped the car and the transmission were no longer attached to each other. I can just see a younger version of my grandfather shaking his head, wondering how my dad pulled that one off. So, what did my 18 year old mind conclude from this story? What moral did I take from this? Of course, today I realize how many accidents I avoided by waiting until I was 18 to drive. But back then I mostly remember that dad could drive at 12 years old and I had to wait until I 18! It wasnt until my mid thirties that I realized what he had really said. He treasured his children more than he treasured a car.
Posted on: Sun, 30 Mar 2014 01:56:25 +0000
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