“I told my dad that I wanted a couple weeks off because I wanted to drive my ’55 convertible to Denver. You know, see some cousins and see the Rocky Mountains.” This was my dad’s conversation in 1957 in little old Forest Lake, Minnesota. He’d just graduated high school and had a quest for adventure. Has he made many trips back to the land of 10,000 lakes since that time? Oh ya,…sure,…you betcha! (*typed in Minnesotan accent). But those trips are just to visit and stay connected. For all intents and purposes, he took a hard right out of Minnesota, and just kept going.
Denver turned in to Phoenix where he learned a little bit about how outsiders view young men with a nice car and guns to sell. Clearly they must be hooligans. A bum rap was averted when the heat called back to the sporting goods store in Minnesota who confirmed that young Dick wasn’t hauling around lifted gats. He celebrated his vindication by peeling out leaving the station. The cop he encountered after this display understood, but warned that such future behavior would not be tolerated.
Thus Dick and his travel buddy, Roger, continued on down the road. They had friend in the military who would be on a couple weeks of R&R soon as he prepped for his wedding. They set course to visit him. They thought they’d stop in Palm Springs for a meal. The meal led to a recruitment for a bus boy job in a fancy resort. Some lady saw them and asked them if they possessed black slacks and black dress shoes. They indeed did. The gig provided lodging and a covered parking spot for the aforementioned beloved ’55. The resort was visited by the celebrities of day. They made serious coin in tips on a weekend dedicated to fundraising for, “I don’t know,…polio or something.”
They continued on to So Cal. Where next thing you know, my dad is kicking ass at life. By the time he returned to Minnesota for the first time 4 years later; he’s married, adopted one child, had my sister, and is the owner of a lucrative service station. Gone is the ’55. In it’s place is the ’59 El Camino and the family truckster ’57 Dodge (with a push button transmission).
While he and my sisters’ mom weren’t destined to be together, he was still a great dad to them. He and my mom married when he was 28 and she was 19, and he took on a second round of being a great dad. For us probably as well as my mom. He had a ’64 Pontiac Catalina when they got together. My mom says that she thought it was a Cadillac. (Those car badges written in cursive will get you every time.) He says she came to him and told him the car wasn’t running right. She said that she had beaten a corvette in it recently, but now it didn’t have it’s usual “pep.” He had altered the carburetor so that she could no longer fish tail when she left the station.
Dad’s 83 now. The fact that he can recant a story from 65 years ago with so much detail you feel like you’re there is just one testament to how bright he is. Call him right now and give him a complex math problem or ask him for directions to a place he hasn’t been for 20 years if you need any further proof of his brain powers. He’s an incredibly hard worker who pushes others to do the same. He continues with his spirit for adventure, piloting his motorhome criss cross the country.
We’re lucky to have him and lucky his example has helped pass those values on to us. Well,…more or less. After he told me how he uprooted his life at 18 and made it thrive, I shared some of my recent “outside the box” adventure. “I went to Nello’s. You know, the Italian restaurant that’s been in Redding for over 40 years but I had just never gone. I had pesto tortellini” I realize it’s not quite the same, but I think that’s how it’s supposed to go when parents are as they should be; a goal to aspire to so that you keep working to try to be better. Who knows,… maybe in the future I’ll give Giff’s Ugly Burger a try or maybe part my hair on the left. Sky’s the limit.
But in the meantime, I’ll just bask in the gratitude that I’ve had a great dad. A wise man says there are different skills required in making children versus raising children; one could even argue that the latter requires no skill. I’m thankful for the standards my dad has set. Happy Father’s Day to him and all the other dads out there doing the next right thing by their kids.
Thanks for reading!
Bifocals and Barbells 