Travels with my dad

I seemed to have spent my spring retracing the footsteps of my youth.  In early May, I headed west to Amherst for a short stay at the Lord Jeff Inn.  I remember thinking while attending UMass/Amherst that if I ever "made it" that would be something I would do.

Whatever "made it" really means.  There's no point where I could ever have said I'm all set.  What I've discovered since then is that it's all a process.

Above is a picture of the chapel. I probably should have included the library, but it's this square, utilitarian looking structure.  It's supposed to be the tallest in the world, or was when it was built.  But it really has no grace.

Those rides back and forth between Salem and Amherst were the first time my dad and I really bonded.  He was a "man's man," a John Wayne type.  Not much on converstation, and really had no idea what to do with a small, curly headed girl.  He attempted wrestling matches when I was little that just made me cry.  And for most of my childhood, there was an awkward silence between us any time we were alone together.  He was the master of one word answers, which doesn't make for very good conversation.

But once I was a young adult, and we were traveling miles and miles, we started opening up much more.  And it wasn't just the trips to Amherst.  I spent a semester living in Park Slope, Brooklyn, for an internship in the city, and I think expanded both of our horizons by doing so.  It was 1975, and wonder of wonder, he had to stop and ask directions.  Once he got them, he had to give the helpful New Yorkers an earful about the Red Sox, and we were on our way.

Years later he was telling stories about the rides we made.  He worked details at Kappy's to help with my college expenses, and transported empty liquor cartons to New York to help me pack up.  He memtioned how he was stopped by a state trooper after going through a toll booth, and showing the empty boxes.  He would always have a grin on his face when he told the story, like he had put something over on the statie.

There was another time when his car wasn't working well, and we used my Uncle Ed's to get me back to Amherst.  Of course Ed came along, and he was probably quieter than my dad was, if possible.  We came up to a big rotary near Palmer, and had to stop abruptly because of four horses galloping through.  Neither man was quiet after that.  Their idea of country was Saugus, where they grew up by the river.  We all felt like we were in Wyoming or someplace.

As the years passed, we learned how to talk with each other.  One gift he gave me was the ability of making small talk about sports.  I'd try to catch the end of a game (any kind!) to be able to compare notes with him.  In turn, that skill became helpful in my work life when I was at city meetings where I would be one of two or three women in a room full of men department heads.

He bonded differently with my brother.  The wrestling matches were fun for them, as was hitting balls out to the Little Leaguers.  They butted heads a lot, but you could see underneath the tie was strong.  (I do have to thank John for teaching me how to throw a football.  Though like algebra, I haven't had much need for the skill.)

It took my growing up for us to know each other as people, not just as father/daughter.  We may not have always agreed, and sometimes didn't like what the other said or did, but we did love each other.  I just hope now I have some of his strength and tenacity, but a heck of a lot more patience.