I never really ever got to go anywhere that was just the two of us. In fact, up until that moment, I don't ever recall going anywhere alone with him except the time I was around 4 and wanted to go home from my grandparent's house right after they dropped me off and drove away.
(He turned right around and drove the hour back to get me)
But, there we were.
He put me in the back seat of my brother's Dodge Challenger and let me ride with him to get supplies for the hurricane that was bearing down on us where we lived in a duplex in the crowded neighborhood in Metarie, Louisiana in 1978.
We never said a word to each other during the whole ride that I can recall.
He was so much bigger that life to me. He had a presence that filled the spaces so there was really no room for words. He sat up straight in the driver's seat, radio blaring, and his very existence could be felt in every space in the vehicle.
And, I was riding with him. Words didn't need to mess up the moment, or remind him that I was along for the ride. I was just awed to be there.
He went in the store leaving me in the car as he got supplies. I didn't care. I didn't even ask to go in with him. I just waited until he would be back to fill the spaces emptied by his departure.
I only truly knew him from a distance growing up. We existed in the same place, but I didn't know him. I guess that may sound sad to some but my Dad was busy. He was working. That was what he did. And, I never knew it could or even should be different.
I knew, without a doubt, I was loved. But, there was a chasm that separated the silly baby from the strong, forthright man who was my father.
I slept through my alarm somehow this morning. One too many snoozes. I can't even explain how I did it. I thought I counted each snooze when I told Google however many more minutes. But, when I grabbed my phone thinking it was 6am and saw it was 6:40am, I panicked.
My whole morning was shot.
So, tonight I decided MAYBE I needed backup. And, I set up an alarm on my cell phone for 5:50am just in case.
I had the sound radar set. That didn't sound appealing at all. I touched the sound on the screen to choose another, and that is when I was transported back in time.
In 2010 after the deaths of both of my parents I inherited their 2006 Jeep Liberty that they custom ordered to pull behind their motor home. It was immaculate. It only had around 24,000 miles on it. The interior was like brand new. AND....it got around 16mpg. My job had me on the road. Not a good combo.
I traded it in reluctantly for a 2010 Honda Crosstour. It was a beautiful car. My Dad would have liked it. When I picked it up after it was detailed I hooked up my cell phone and the first song I played was Domino by Van Morrison.
Strange choice for the girl who really only listened to Christian music. But, I felt a pull.
A pull from a memory riding in the back seat of that Challenger with my Dad driving. A pull that could still hear his clear Tenor as he sang each word. The only time in my life I ever heard him sing. A pull toward the wonder I felt knowing this big, strong, smart man was my father. How protected I felt. How certain I felt that he loved me, even if he didn't know how to show it.
My finger pressed Domino tonight, wondering how on earth it was sitting there as one of my alarm choices. And, once again I could feel that larger than life presence surround me.
As his health failed I received the most wondrous gift. During our time shuttling back and forth to appointments here and there, I finally got to know my father. I got to hear his stories. Laugh with him, cry with him, and realize he was a man after all. That only made me love him more.
I just want to hear some rhythm and blues music
On the radio
On the radio
On the radio
Uh-uh, all right
Uh-uh, all right
Uh-uh, all right
Uh-uh
Hear the band
One more time
