Little Red Corvette
My Dad's dream car was the Corvette. And you know, the Corvette really suited my Dad. It's curvy and sleek with a body like a work of art. It's powerful and flashy without the pretension of other sports cars. My Dad always did have fine taste without having to be snooty. He was down to earth like that and it's a big reason why he was so well liked by those who met him.
My Dad realized his dream car after he left the steel mining suburb of Pittsburgh and joined the Navy. A red 1967 Convertible. I can only imagine the pride he must have felt when he sat in the driver's seat, the rush when he stepped on that gas pedal, the freedom of driving with the top down and the wind blowing through his curly locks. My Dad loved that car.
After my Dad met my Mom he most likely bragged about his car- as most guys are prone to do. And I can only imagine that my Mom was attracted to that man with a cool car- as most women are prone to do. She was so smitten with him she took a trip from Washington DC to Miami where my Dad was stationed at the time. My Mom led a fairly sheltered life, so the thought of this Catholic school girl in 1967 taking a trip down I-95 to see a man she just met, a stranger really, was unusual. But love is strong and it pulled her there.
They spent the nights driving around in that Corvette with the sounds of "Light My Fire" blaring through the speakers. I can't hear that song without picturing my Mom and Dad in a red Corvette skirting the coastline of Florida. Young and free. The whole road ahead of them. Not knowing what was around the next bend, but taking it there anyway. I never tire of listening to their love story.
Like most romantic love stories, though, reality sets in and with that the demands of maintaining a relationship that is deeper than a car ride with the top down and the Doors urging you on. Marriage, work, children. New priorities.
My Dad sold his red Corvette shortly before I was born. Only room for two in a Corvette. His family was expanding and thus seating arrangements in their mode of transportation needed to be adjusted. I can only imagine that my Dad must have saw his youth and freedom slipping away as the new owner of the red Corvette drove away. But he never once demonstrated any resentment or bitterness about having to make that sacrifice. He lived his life like that. Sure, he was human and made his share of mistakes along the way. Nonetheless my Mom stood by him during that rough beginning. My Dad didn't really have a strong example for fatherhood from his own father. He was an alcoholic and was abusive to my Grandmother, so my Dad didn't have a relationship with him after he left my Grandmother. We know that is why he undertook fatherhood with such dedication and commitment to his family. My Dad has always been a shining example to me.
Parenting requires a lot of sacrifice. You work hard so your kids can have the best. You give up the things you want so your kid can have the things he needs. You make decisions based on how it will affect your kid. Good parents do put their kids first. I learned this from my Dad, which is why I still miss him 4 years after his passing. But his legacy is the example he set forth to his own children and I can only hope we can rise to the occasion.
My Dad was able to realize his dream car again after the kids were grown and out of college. He actually got two Corvettes to play with. My Mom and him joined the Corvette Club and took trips up to Canada driving the Corvette. I'm glad that he finally got his dream back. But I know in my heart that his real dream was building a family and caring for them with all that he had. Although his children had grown and were living their own lives, he would now have grandchildren to play with. And that was always enough for my Dad.
There are many reasons why his passing still is so hard for me. I miss telling him things that I know he would enjoy. I miss his fatherly advice and support when I face life's struggle. I feel sad that my daughter doesn't remember a lot about him, except for the Hat Game they would play. I feel sad that my Dad didn't get to enjoy his grandchildren like he enjoyed his children. I hate that he didn't get to take the Civil War trip he was planning during the summer he died or to finish his degree he was one class away from achieving.
But I feel proud that I knew him and that he was my Dad. I feel fortunate that we had him all the years we did. I'm thankful that there were no unsaid feelings or unresolved issues between myself and my Dad. It doesn't make it any easier, but it at least gives my heart something to hold onto.
So in memoriam this year I just want to thank my Daddy for all the sacrifices he made. I sure hope he's riding that Corvette in the sky and I'm almost certain that Ray Manzarek's keyboards can be heard.
My Dad realized his dream car after he left the steel mining suburb of Pittsburgh and joined the Navy. A red 1967 Convertible. I can only imagine the pride he must have felt when he sat in the driver's seat, the rush when he stepped on that gas pedal, the freedom of driving with the top down and the wind blowing through his curly locks. My Dad loved that car.
After my Dad met my Mom he most likely bragged about his car- as most guys are prone to do. And I can only imagine that my Mom was attracted to that man with a cool car- as most women are prone to do. She was so smitten with him she took a trip from Washington DC to Miami where my Dad was stationed at the time. My Mom led a fairly sheltered life, so the thought of this Catholic school girl in 1967 taking a trip down I-95 to see a man she just met, a stranger really, was unusual. But love is strong and it pulled her there.
They spent the nights driving around in that Corvette with the sounds of "Light My Fire" blaring through the speakers. I can't hear that song without picturing my Mom and Dad in a red Corvette skirting the coastline of Florida. Young and free. The whole road ahead of them. Not knowing what was around the next bend, but taking it there anyway. I never tire of listening to their love story.
Like most romantic love stories, though, reality sets in and with that the demands of maintaining a relationship that is deeper than a car ride with the top down and the Doors urging you on. Marriage, work, children. New priorities.
My Dad sold his red Corvette shortly before I was born. Only room for two in a Corvette. His family was expanding and thus seating arrangements in their mode of transportation needed to be adjusted. I can only imagine that my Dad must have saw his youth and freedom slipping away as the new owner of the red Corvette drove away. But he never once demonstrated any resentment or bitterness about having to make that sacrifice. He lived his life like that. Sure, he was human and made his share of mistakes along the way. Nonetheless my Mom stood by him during that rough beginning. My Dad didn't really have a strong example for fatherhood from his own father. He was an alcoholic and was abusive to my Grandmother, so my Dad didn't have a relationship with him after he left my Grandmother. We know that is why he undertook fatherhood with such dedication and commitment to his family. My Dad has always been a shining example to me.
Parenting requires a lot of sacrifice. You work hard so your kids can have the best. You give up the things you want so your kid can have the things he needs. You make decisions based on how it will affect your kid. Good parents do put their kids first. I learned this from my Dad, which is why I still miss him 4 years after his passing. But his legacy is the example he set forth to his own children and I can only hope we can rise to the occasion.
My Dad was able to realize his dream car again after the kids were grown and out of college. He actually got two Corvettes to play with. My Mom and him joined the Corvette Club and took trips up to Canada driving the Corvette. I'm glad that he finally got his dream back. But I know in my heart that his real dream was building a family and caring for them with all that he had. Although his children had grown and were living their own lives, he would now have grandchildren to play with. And that was always enough for my Dad.
There are many reasons why his passing still is so hard for me. I miss telling him things that I know he would enjoy. I miss his fatherly advice and support when I face life's struggle. I feel sad that my daughter doesn't remember a lot about him, except for the Hat Game they would play. I feel sad that my Dad didn't get to enjoy his grandchildren like he enjoyed his children. I hate that he didn't get to take the Civil War trip he was planning during the summer he died or to finish his degree he was one class away from achieving.
But I feel proud that I knew him and that he was my Dad. I feel fortunate that we had him all the years we did. I'm thankful that there were no unsaid feelings or unresolved issues between myself and my Dad. It doesn't make it any easier, but it at least gives my heart something to hold onto.
So in memoriam this year I just want to thank my Daddy for all the sacrifices he made. I sure hope he's riding that Corvette in the sky and I'm almost certain that Ray Manzarek's keyboards can be heard.
posted by amyd | 2:36 PM
1 Comments:
sniff, sniff
that was very nice
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