Dad
Here’s one of those iconic memories that stick with you forever and define the way you think about somebody, about my dad.
For some background here, my dad is a hard-working man of few words*. He has his opinions, but unless you grill him, you probably won’t know what they are. I’ve certainly seen him angry before, but he’s not ever going to be the one to make a public scene.
I was learning to drive a stick. In a shiny new used Yugo. I was stuck trying to get going from a stop sign. I just kept killing it and killing it. And killing it. After four/five/God-who-knows-how-many tries, about five cars had lined up behind us. This is a major traffic jam in Port Angeles.
A car honks.
My dad gets out of the car. You might think he was going to switch places with me and get us going, but no.
He turns around, slams his fist on the roof of the Yugo, and yells back at the other cars, “she’s TRYing! to. LEARN!”
He then sits back down and I manage to lurch into the intersection and we drive away.
Here’s my interpretation of everything those words meant:
- Everybody’s gotta learn new skills sometime and the world can stand to learn a little patience while they do.
- Why rant when four words will do?
- Don’t give up. Give it just one more try.
- And most of all- I love my daughter and she’s worth sticking up for, even when she’s messing up and good sense might dictate she should probably stand aside. Just one more try.
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*Now me, I am NOT a women of few words, as it just took me 293 to explain four.
p.s. He’s a great grandpa too.
JaRuuds 