The children were all ready to go. The car was loaded, gassed and warming up in the cool of the early morning. “If all goes as planned, we’ll be on the rock by this afternoon at the latest”, I said. As I looked out the window, I saw the almond blossoms falling like snow and with a strong pang of nostalgia I was transported to my parents yard, 43 years ago. The sights, sounds and feelings that spread through me felt like the warmth of our fire. I felt myself gliding through time finally coming to rest when I was young, about the age of my son.
My dad used to take us on trips. He was a great one for trips; we would pile in the truck or the car, head out on the road and drive for hour after hour. Many times we would eat in the car; very rarely did we eat in a restaurant or truck stop. “Ring of red and a loaf of bread”, sandwiches put together with care by my mom as we careened down the road heading “on a trip”. It wasn’t like my dad didn’t care if we ate; he just didn’t like to stop once he got rolling. It was sort of like his drinking, it was easy to start rolling but hard to stop. I remember that we surely were rolling during those days.
Once we headed into Mexico “to fish”. We drove all day in our ‘59 Chevy pick-up, we being
my mom, dad and me. My sister hated these trips almost as much as I loved them. She didn’t like getting dirty, she didn’t like camping and she sure wasn’t going to eat a baloney sandwich made with “buzzard puke”. My dad loved to say “buzzard puke” because he loved to see the reaction he got from all of us. This concoction, one of great mystery to me, consisted of mayonnaise, pickle and some mystery ingredient all mixed together into the sandwich spread used on all our “trip” food.
Anyway, we laughed and joked for awhile and ate our sandwiches but then the silence of the “trip” over came my dad and a somewhat isolated nature overtook him. All he did for the miles and the hours that it took us to reach the border was drive. No conversation, no nothing, until we reached the border and then a change and he was himself again, laughing, pulling Camels from their pack and chain smoking them, pointing things out through a bluish haze that smothered us in that tiny cab.
I remember the things he pointed out, birds, animals, and trees. Anything and everything that didn’t “belong” in the picture he showed. I remember on this trip to Mexico, once we were heading into the this foreign land, my dad stopped the truck and asked “did you see that?” I looked and looked and could not see what he was pointing out. Over and over again I looked, seeing but not seeing, until I felt like saying that I did indeed see something out there. Finally, my dad said “Never mind it’s gone. Come on, get in and let’s go!” God, I felt like such a dummy, why couldn’t I see? Why couldn’t I track what my dad saw?
My Dad drove on a bit and, I think, for the first time saw how not seeing things affected me. I think that on this trip he saw that I wanted so very much to be like him, to be able to do things, see things, track things like he could. I think he felt what I was going through because he pulled off the road again and while my mom looked out at the ocean, we walked a little ways from the truck and sat down. My dad then proceeded to show me how he saw things. He actually spent time, worked with me, pointed out different things that I, at first could not see, but soon was able to more quickly identify. I felt like a part of my dad at the moment. I felt like I was seeing the world through his eyes, like I was on the top of the world. My dad had actually taken the time to show me. I learned the way of picking out “what doesn’t belong” in the picture. I was able to look, at a landscape, tree line or whatever and see the bump that was the tiny head of a chipmunk, or the outline of a deer laying in the tall grass. I was and became able to spot a person hiding in a tree or an eagle flying in the late afternoon sky just off the surface of the river. This didn’t happen right away mind you but as I matured and practiced what I learned on this trip I found it easier and easier to do.
“Are you okay?” My wife had come up and touching my arm, brought me from the side of my dad back to the driveway of my home.
