Things I Wish I had told Dad

As I made my way along a familiar road this morning I came to a spot that brings back some bad memories for me. During my childhood we often came "up home" (where Grammy and Grandpa lived), which is 50+ miles northwest of the town I grew up in. We made the trip either on a weekly basis, or sometimes two or three times a month. Winter weather never held Dad back from driving anywhere, therefore there were countless times that we made the trek in a heavy or blinding snowstorm (which was a distraction to a child with a wild imagination and a very nervous stomach).  Along this particular 100' stretch of road there is a 50 or 60 foot drop off on the east side (therefore on the driving-lane side when headed northwest). Today this steep embankment is topped with heavy-duty guardrails but that was not the case when I was a child. In those days there would be an occasional brown post, some leaning , others teetering precariously where the tar and gravel at the edge of the road had begun washing over the bank. They offered no "guard" and were void of "rails" also. From the time prior to leaving the house, during preparation for any one of these snowy trips, my stomach would anticipate the possibility of Dad losing complete control of the car and our pitching down through the trees into the field below. A mile or two up the road was another stretch that harbored no posts at all, though the drop off was only 30 feet or so. In recent years, Syd and I were visiting with Mom and Dad, recounting old memories, and I mentioned the knots my stomach would be in as we drove through the last two towns on each trip "up home". Dad was surprised, and I think saddened, to hear how much that had bothered me and I could tell that he was sorry that he did not take even more care to stay well away from the 'problem spots'. I don't know why I never told him, but now wish that I had.

When I was five years old we moved from my birthplace to what became my "hometown", 13 miles away. The truck was being packed and things being picked through; some tossed, others cleaned and carefully packed into boxes to be used in our new, large Victorian house. I was to begin using my own "posted" bed and Dad had it set up in the back yard while Mom dusted and cleaned it before it would be disassembled and put into the truck. In all the hustle and bustle, my big red dog (which I used as a "horse") got thrown in the trash. I don't know how it happened and never really discovered at what point I found out, but it was heartbreaking that anyone would throw away a perfectly good, though dirty and matted, horse! He had been left out in the rain then hung on the line to dry for almost a week one time, thus the mats. Many years later, again in a conversation with Dad, the matter of the horse-dog came up. I could see the sadness in Dad's eyes as he said, "Why didn't you tell us how much that dog meant to you? I wouldn't have thrown it away." Even now it brings tears to my eyes, though only because of how bad it made Dad feel.

There are many things that were left unsaid...such as, "Why don't we swing up to Washington? It says that it's only 8 miles from here?"...when we were making the right turn in Chelsea on one of our 100+ trips from Grammy & Grandpa Pop's, heading to Grammy & Grandpa George's house. If I had only voiced this to Dad he would've gladly driven up to Washington, where I would see that there was no White House or Capitol building. I don't know how many years I silently puzzled over it. We did make a trip to Washington D.C. when I was around 12 years old, but I'm sure I had figured it out well before then!

My father had such a big heart and I surely do miss him. If you still have your Dad, be sure to tell him all the little things that have meaning to you. If he's anything like my father, he'll take pleasure in knowing them!

In this picture he's holding his great grandson, Lucius. Dad always had this "twinkle" in his eye.