Earlier this year, I reached what many would consider a major adult milestone: I bought a car. Some may say this purchase is years behind schedule for a thirty-two-year-old but, as a city dweller who has utilized public transportation for nearly a decade, a vehicle has never been an essential need. It’s not to say there weren’t challenges to this approach – I’m sure the amount of time I’ve spent waiting on never-appearing buses is staggering – but as I learned the rhythm of the city it was easy to put this extra cost to the side in favor of more impactful spending. However, as my family continues expanding with marriages and children, I decided it was time to take the car plunge for easier commutes back to my hometown.
Previously, my trips home were entirely dependent on trains. While an affordable and convenient form of travel, being beholden to their often delayed-filled schedules was trying to say the least. Though I did meet countless characters and wind up with a solid portfolio of train stories to delight my friends and family, the freedom my car has provided to visit them on a more flexible schedule has been incredible. I have no regrets about this purchase, save for one: I’ll have fewer car rides to share with my dad.
I’d argue of his four children, I’m likely the biggest wildcard of the bunch – I doubt many parents in the 90s had a bisexual, digital media professional on their future child bingo cards. That being said, my dad has, without exception, always been there for me. The love and support he has shown not just me, but our entire family, throughout our lives is truly unmatched. It’s something I’ve never had to question, even when I make choices he doesn’t understand or agree with. While he might be a man of few words – or at least fewer words than some of our other family members, me included – his actions continuously show he will do whatever he can to be there for us, even when it is inconvenient for him.
Take, for example, the many years I spent riding the train to and from the city. More often than not, my dad was the one to pick me up from the station – which is about a thirty-minute drive from our hometown – and would also drop me off for the trip back. I’d typically prioritize the earliest trains possible for these returns, especially on days when I had plans. If you know my dad, you know he is not a fan of early mornings. In all the years I took the train back to the city, I did not miss a single one.
While some of our early morning trips might have been on the quieter side – I inherited my dad’s preference for sleeping in at every opportunity – our other drives were filled with conversations about work, our family, career plans, politics, or whatever else popped into our heads. They were never forced or pre-planned – there were plenty of trips filled with comfortable silences, too – but it became another space for us to connect; something which rings true for as long as I can remember.
For example, when we were younger he’d often travel for work, sometimes being gone for up to a week at a time. Occasionally he would return home early – surprising us by showing up to one of our practices in his distinctive red truck. We’d loudly pile into the back of the cab or, on occasion, the bed, excited to know our home would be full for the weekend ahead. We had countless memories in that little red Ranger, one of my favorites being the winter our brand-new sleds vanished from the bed of the truck en route to our town’s prime sledding hill. It was far from funny in the moment – we did spend a hefty amount of time searching for those damn sleds along our path, but they were never seen again – but after all these years, it now makes us laugh. It’s one of those tales that has growth into family lore, and I can’t wait to share the increasingly dramatized version of that day with our growing family in the years to come.
Another core part of our family history is the marathon drives we powered through for years of vacations in our family suburban, sarcastically dubbed “The Fun Bus” during a particularly lengthy haul. Dad would take the driver’s seat for these road trips, always driving through the night so the rest of us could sleep and wake up refreshed and ready to vacation. There are too many tales to share in one sitting about our Fun Bus adventures – like the year my grandma joined us and all seven of us took a 14+ hour trip packed to the breaking point, or the year I (once a very picky eater) refused to eat three different meals at an IHOP stop – but none of them would have been possible without our Dad sitting in that driver’s seat, listening us to bicker and complain the whole way down. We still take these trips (though now spread out among several cars with shorter drive times), and he, without fail, takes his spot in the driver’s seat to lead our caravan there.
It’s strange to think these seemingly inconsequential moments – whether they be casual conversations about life, a passionate search for sleds, or a carload of bickering children – have come to mean so much to me as an adult. Younger me would wish these trips away, counting down the seconds until I arrived at whatever destination was ahead. But I’ve reached a point in life where I can look back at these experiences and appreciate the time my dad and I, as well as the rest of our family, were able to spend together during these trips. I’m grateful to know we still have plenty of adventures ahead as well – just this fall we piled into the car for a weekend vacation that wound up being reminiscent of our childhood travels; full of grumbles and laughs that I know will join our lengthy catalogue of memories.
While my relationship with my dad is not solely dependent on car conversations, I’ll cherish the time we did spend together on these individual trips – especially those during my formative years trying to make it in the city. To have a parent take interest in your life in any setting to celebrate your wins, lament your losses, and share support for your future is an incredible blessing – one that I never plan on taking for granted.
When I remember of all the love, support, and guidance my dad has shared with me throughout my life, my mind can’t help but drift to seeing him in the driver’s seat. That image embodies the qualities I respect most about him, the ones I aspire to achieve in my own life. Regardless of the situation, he always shows up for those he loves and makes them feel valued. And while we may have less of these car rides together moving forward, I know that whatever road I take in this life, he will be there cheering me on – though preferably after 10 a.m.