Father’s Day

I see blog posts all over the blogosphere about Father’s day.  I haven’t had an opportunity to do so yet, as it has been rather busy.

I think my favorite memories of my father happen when we are driving together.  I don’t know why that is.  Even at the more anxious times in my life, he was the one person I never felt nervous riding with.  He is such an observant man that perhaps I just always assumed he had a pretty good handle on what was going on around him when it came to traffic.  When I learned to drive, he taught me with such a low stress attitude over the whole thing.  Rarely did he act nervous, even if he was, and was often quiet, making me learn things for myself.  He would ask gentle questions even in my panic over a situation, causing me to have no choice but to think rather than stay in panic mode.  Since we often had cars which were…..not of the most modern nature, the tricks he taught me were often valuable even after I left home.  I truly believe that his teaching made me a very good driver, thinking quickly in various situations, not taking unnecessary risks even though it might look fun for the moment, and has perhaps contributed to the fact that I have never been in a car accident which was caused by me.

As I grew into an adult, and learned to love driving, we often shared driving time on family trips.  When I look back on such car rides I can only think of warm late night camaraderie as the rest of the car tries to sleep.   Perhaps the two of us are at our best together when we are undistracted by the world and have the open road ahead of us and a goal of getting to where we are going safely.  Even now, when I go to visit and fly into the airport, I enjoy the gentle banter and laughs at various situations on the car ride from the airport to their house.

When I was a child, I had long hair and a sensitive head.  Not a great combination.  My mother, my nana, and my aunt were NOT gentle when they combed my hair.  The prevailing attitude I think was do it, get it done, and get it done right so it stays, often ending up in tight braids or pony tails specifically designed to last all day.  But sometimes, in the evenings, after a bath, my mom would give me the yellow wide tooth comb and send me to my dad, who would then comb my hair with the utmost gentleness even though it took a long time.

Now that I have a daughter of my own, I am eager to hear how she remembers my father.  She loves her Poppop and I feel confident that she will be gaining little memory treasures as the time goes by as well!