Saturday 21 November 2009
Depending on what car he is driving, my dad likes to drive fast. I don't mean he drives ridiculously fast, like it's unsafe. He just has a habit of going a little more than the posted limits. He says a higher average speed keeps up his times... as though he's racing.
Actually at one time my dad did get a sports-car-racing licence. It has long since elapsed, since he no longer logs any time on race tracks (unlike my uncle who races frequently up in Pennsylvania). But he always says it is one of two reasons why he looks at every driving situation like he would look at a race. He has these sayings, like 'Lane selection is key' and 'Check six for challenges', things like that. The whole purpose of driving for him is to get where you're going as quickly and safely as possible. He says, 'A good race is when you arrive at the finish line alive. A great race is when they can use the car again someday.' The other reason is that he grew up learning to drive when they had the 55-MPH speed limits, which truckers hated because it meant they could not legally average a mile a minute. So like the truckers my dad learned to push the limits a little-- which, yes, kind of made the 55-MPH speed limit sort of ineffective.
We were out this morning in the '65 Wildcat convertible, going up to the music store in Salisbury and on the way home, trying to get back for my all-call at 6.00, we found ourselves in the middle lane needing to get over to the right. And on our right was a 1968 Dodge Charger being driven by a girl-- young woman-- not much older than me, about 21 maybe, with bushy curly dark hair and pretty dark eyes-- Italian-looking, very pretty. I wondered how she had got such an exquisite old car-- it was deep maroon with a black top such as they had then and gleaming chrome wheels, very pretty like herself actually. Maybe it was her father's and he had let her drive it-- unlike my dad who won't let me close to the driver's seat on any of his! Anyway she had a stick shift-- we could hear her going through gears. I sort of envied her.
Daddy ran up through second upon leaving the traffic light. There were cars everywhere-- the mild weather had brought people out for shopping and just plain cruising. And a lot were classic cars-- part of the reason Daddy wanted to take the Wildcat on this trip, you know. And maybe it was why this lucky girl had stolen a chance to drive her daddy's Dodge Charger. She was accelerating mildly out of the traffic light and we pulled even with her. Daddy needed to get over to her lane for an upcoming turn and wound second out a little higher. That big Buick engine ran up and the exhaust growled. The girl, whom I could see now was not alone in the car, heard it and accelerated a little harder too. Daddy laughed.
'I think we're going to miss our exit,' he said, and leaned harder on the throttle.
The girl did too. The nose of the Charger pulled even with the nose of the Buick. Suddenly her whole car rocked back-- she had floored it.
Daddy floored it. 'Uh-oh,' he said, 'there goes the six-pack.'
'The what?' But I was shoved back into the seat with the acceleration then. Both of us roared off up the highway, fifty, sixty-- Daddy shifted to third-- seventy, nearly eighty when Daddy put it into fourth and let the girl go. The big Buick settled in at about 80 for a few moments and then he backed off. Fortunately the girl had made her point for she settled in just ahead of us as we glided into the right lane for the next exit. I knew that under any other circumstances Daddy would have run any guy about his age through 100 or so, whatever the two cars would take. But he was feeling a little protective of the girl in the Charger-- she was only some good man's daughter, as he likes to say, and it would look awful if he were the one who incited her to some horrific accident. If she would not know any better, he would, you know.
Nevertheless he went in to the exit ramp with the big wide tyres whining a little and proceeded to drive us home a little faster the whole way. I know he thinks fondly on the days when he had his first 1965 Wildcat and used to cruise the Boulevard on Long Beach Island with it all summer, attracting girls and the envy of boys as well. I know he got this second Wildcat and had it painted like the first just to relive, even a little, those days of teenaged glory. And I know he thinks Jessy and I find it a little immature, and he probably thinks Mother does too-- but, the thing is, we don't. We find it just one more part of him. You see, my dad has always been 'cool', not in the immature, irrational way like some young guys imagine they are 'cool'. My dad has always been sensible, rational, intelligent, you know, but there is a small slice of him that likes to look good in all situations. In the '80s he was noted as a fashion plate in rock-and-roll. He had the hair and the clothes and the guitars and was seen in places the average rocker was not-- Sotheby's auction, the National Trust sites, art museums and classical-music concerts and at the ballet. He paid attention to his widowed mother and participated in family functions. He hosted (conservative) politicians at his big place up in Menlo Park and gave to charities. He was seen with a number of young women, in New Jersey, New York, and London, where he tended to work in those days. And he made people's careers, not merely as a 'fashion plate' but as someone whose attention and concern-- almost as a father's-- made the difference between a young star making a stupid decision and a young star moving forward like a responsible professional. I never mention names-- not even my own here-- but if I were to, you would be surprised at who he has known and what he has done for them.
In many ways my dad is my hero. There are a few things about him I would not like to see in anyone who would become my husband-- he is very sloppy about clothes, procrastinates little things because of working on big things, spends too much time by himself and overtalks literature, music, art and philosophy, all of which my dear stepmother, who once adored him as a favourite teacher, has found out about him since she married him. But in most important things he is my role model for a man. He is naturally happy, optimistic, encouraging. He is artistic, creative, intelligent-- really a genius. He is warm, thoughtful, generous, affectionate. He is careful and logical, not prone to making stupid decisions for selfish reasons. And he is truly concerned about the welfare of the world, from the healthcare plan to the first club show of the newest starving future singing star.
And he drives the coolest metallic-blue 1965 Buick Wildcat convertible known to mankind, a car that will probably become mine some day (or J.J.'s) because it would never, ever be sold by Daddy or anyone else, if only because it reminds us all of what Daddy is-- a man who sees no great period of time between when he was 20 and when he was 50, because in all that time he has only ever been the same person through and through. He has matured and grown older, but he has remained the same in what really matters.
People have asked me if this is some weird Oedipus complex, and I can only say I don't know. First I have to ask, is there any reason my dad should NOT be my role model? Is there any reason I should not want to keep him company on a ride to the music store? Is there any reason why I should not ask him my most personal questions and then take his advice? Is there any reason why I should not admire him?
And then those people will ask me, if he were not my father, would I want to date him?
Well, maybe if he were still 20. [ha]
...
Showing posts with label cars. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cars. Show all posts
22 November 2009
15 April 2009
On the town
Tuesday, 14th April 2009
I went down stairs in my good jeans, a black long-sleeved t-shirt, and black socks. Jessy was still having her shower. Lisa and the Barbies had set a place for me at the kitchen table and the moment I came in Mother brought a dish of (instant) oatmeal over for me. 'What's with the special treatment?'
Mother just smiled, maybe blushed a little, and went back round into the kitchen. She loves that kitchen. It's like her domain here. If there were a computer in it she might never leave it.
Daddy came in and said, 'Is that what you're wearing?'
I looked down. 'Um, yes, these clothes are on me, so I would say I am wearing them--'
'You'd better ask the other one then. She said she was wearing a dress.'
I made a face. 'Oh, no.' But Jessy came in with jeans on and a pretty nice long-sleeved bright-blue top with a little white cotton shrug tied at her middle. It was a very cute look. Gran came in and sat with me, once again saying how sorry she was that she had wrecked her car. I said, 'It's hardly wrecked, right? It's only a fender.'
She said, 'Yes, but I will have no car this week.'
I smiled at her. 'So you can't go to exercise class, and you have to ride round in a limousine till then.'
She made a face like that would be utterly distasteful.
Of course Daddy grilled us on his instructions for the trip, insisting that we phone him or our uncle in southern NJ in case anything happened to Roger that he could not collect us. Gran, the eternal optimist, insisted there was no need for worry. I came back down stairs with my dark-brown high-heeled maryjane shoes on and my patchwork leather jacket that was new for my birthday. Jessy wore a cute black leather sport jacket and her black block-heeled shoes-- with her naturally-curly hair all drawn back and cinched in a low ponytail ring she looked like a child of the '70s. We both had umbrellas and our purses-- though for the city I always take most of my stuff out of it in case I should lose it, either negligently or violently (it's happened before) and my phone goes in my pocket.
At about 2.30 we would go. Roger had pulled up outside-- the long dark-green classic Cadillac rumbled calmly at the foot of the steps. Daddy kissed Jessy and then me and then turned to say goodbye to Gran. Roger stepped out with an umbrella for her and Jessy and then I followed into the light drizzle. Daddy put Gran's bags into the boot and leaned in to say goodbye again. Then, we were off.
Whenever Daddy or Mother is not with us I sit on the right in back. It's the seat with the intercom phone and the window and TV controls (this car was built before wireless controls were so common even though it has a DVD player now and the control pad is just like a remote, only one that's just wired in place). Gran sat beside me and rather than sit between us Jessy took the seat facing me, next to the console. At once she kicked off her shoes and slouched with her heels up on the seat cushion beside my leg. I closed my hand round her pink socks and squeezed her foot a few times. She likes being pampered like that, but she is my sister and I adore the little twit, you know.
When we went past 175 on Rt.13 Gran showed us where the other car had hit hers. Roger had rolled the window down before then and listened to her story, asking her some questions. Then he reassured her that Daddy's friend (who is also Roger's friend) in Delaware would be more than capable of fixing a 1987 Jaguar. She adores that car-- she had always dreamt of having one till Daddy bought it for her back then, and then our uncle insisted on upgrading it a few years ago to a Chevrolet engine and gearbox, so it's perfectly reliable and yet still looks like a Jaguar, you know. We look forward to seeing her get it back again.
The ride up Rt.1 and I-95 was uneventful and quick. Despite rain, some traffic, and stopping for McNuggets and drinks we got into Philadelphia well before 8.00. Roger took us on a short tour of Penn's Landing and Society Hill, mainly for Gran, who has been in this car often enough but said she could not recall ever having a pleasant nighttime tour of her hometown like this. As we drew up in front of the theater it began to rain... hard. There were two vans and trailers right in front of the place, probably belonging to the bands, but Roger stopped the car right in the street and hurried round to open the door for us. We said our good-byes to Gran and him and hurried to the kerb-- without our umbrellas. Of course people looked-- they always do when there is a long car, you know. Jessy and I have learnt to pay it no mind (though I do notice and I apologise if that looks bad, you know).
The show was fine-- mostly, as my dad would say, TDL (too darned loud). The musicians wander round before and after their acts and you get to meet them, have your pictures taken, buy their t-shirts and CDs and so on. Naturally we located Jessy's friend (from FaceBook) straight away. We stood (there are no seats) and chatted amiably and it was really fun. Of course hanging round with our father has taught us that pop stars, whether they are up-and-coming or well-established, tend to be pleasant, positive people who welcome friendship and happy smiles from just about anyone. We had a few pictures taken, by each other and by strangers of both of us, you know.
After the show and during the later acts we got to talk some more with the band. I don't mention them by name here because Jessy and I are all over their MySpace page with comments, and it would be a dead cert to identify us and locate us from there-- Daddy would hate that. And Jessy's friend in the band comments frequently on hers. What proves this point is that both of us were recognised at the show by some of their other fans who have seen us on the band's MySpace pages. It was a form of celebrity-- we walked past people now and then and heard, 'Is that--?' Well that might be because we are our father's daughters. Sometimes we are recognised for that. But the worst was, 'I've seen her on their site!' --as though we were rivals for their idols' attention. So THIS is why I do not mix my chatting on AOL with my last name or my pictures!
We stood in the lobby chatting with the band whilst the people closed up and finally kicked us out. I got a text from Roger than he was waiting up the block, and we needn't hurry. It was beneficial however because Jessy's friend came out with autographed posters for each of us, and we made sure to have bought their t-shirts first anyway. Then there were hugs and kisses all round and we were 'escorted' out to the pavement.
That was at 11.45. We both stepped up the wet street to the car and promptly fell asleep, me on one of the pillows against the side of the car and Jessy lying all the way over with a pillow for her head on my leg.
...
Wednesday, 15th April
So we got home at about 3.30 am. Having slept in the car I woke up at the unreasonable hour of 8.15, then went back to sleep till 9.30, then sat up and typed in this. Jessy's friend has sent her a text message much earlier this morning, while they were on the road going back home, and she typed back, 'How on earth are you even awake!' But his enthusiasm and energy is boundless-- as with most drummers we've known!
It's raining rather steadily but it is not cold. I sit here naked typing in this... looking forward to a long pleasant rest today!
...
I went down stairs in my good jeans, a black long-sleeved t-shirt, and black socks. Jessy was still having her shower. Lisa and the Barbies had set a place for me at the kitchen table and the moment I came in Mother brought a dish of (instant) oatmeal over for me. 'What's with the special treatment?'
Mother just smiled, maybe blushed a little, and went back round into the kitchen. She loves that kitchen. It's like her domain here. If there were a computer in it she might never leave it.
Daddy came in and said, 'Is that what you're wearing?'
I looked down. 'Um, yes, these clothes are on me, so I would say I am wearing them--'
'You'd better ask the other one then. She said she was wearing a dress.'
I made a face. 'Oh, no.' But Jessy came in with jeans on and a pretty nice long-sleeved bright-blue top with a little white cotton shrug tied at her middle. It was a very cute look. Gran came in and sat with me, once again saying how sorry she was that she had wrecked her car. I said, 'It's hardly wrecked, right? It's only a fender.'
She said, 'Yes, but I will have no car this week.'
I smiled at her. 'So you can't go to exercise class, and you have to ride round in a limousine till then.'
She made a face like that would be utterly distasteful.
Of course Daddy grilled us on his instructions for the trip, insisting that we phone him or our uncle in southern NJ in case anything happened to Roger that he could not collect us. Gran, the eternal optimist, insisted there was no need for worry. I came back down stairs with my dark-brown high-heeled maryjane shoes on and my patchwork leather jacket that was new for my birthday. Jessy wore a cute black leather sport jacket and her black block-heeled shoes-- with her naturally-curly hair all drawn back and cinched in a low ponytail ring she looked like a child of the '70s. We both had umbrellas and our purses-- though for the city I always take most of my stuff out of it in case I should lose it, either negligently or violently (it's happened before) and my phone goes in my pocket.
At about 2.30 we would go. Roger had pulled up outside-- the long dark-green classic Cadillac rumbled calmly at the foot of the steps. Daddy kissed Jessy and then me and then turned to say goodbye to Gran. Roger stepped out with an umbrella for her and Jessy and then I followed into the light drizzle. Daddy put Gran's bags into the boot and leaned in to say goodbye again. Then, we were off.
Whenever Daddy or Mother is not with us I sit on the right in back. It's the seat with the intercom phone and the window and TV controls (this car was built before wireless controls were so common even though it has a DVD player now and the control pad is just like a remote, only one that's just wired in place). Gran sat beside me and rather than sit between us Jessy took the seat facing me, next to the console. At once she kicked off her shoes and slouched with her heels up on the seat cushion beside my leg. I closed my hand round her pink socks and squeezed her foot a few times. She likes being pampered like that, but she is my sister and I adore the little twit, you know.
When we went past 175 on Rt.13 Gran showed us where the other car had hit hers. Roger had rolled the window down before then and listened to her story, asking her some questions. Then he reassured her that Daddy's friend (who is also Roger's friend) in Delaware would be more than capable of fixing a 1987 Jaguar. She adores that car-- she had always dreamt of having one till Daddy bought it for her back then, and then our uncle insisted on upgrading it a few years ago to a Chevrolet engine and gearbox, so it's perfectly reliable and yet still looks like a Jaguar, you know. We look forward to seeing her get it back again.
The ride up Rt.1 and I-95 was uneventful and quick. Despite rain, some traffic, and stopping for McNuggets and drinks we got into Philadelphia well before 8.00. Roger took us on a short tour of Penn's Landing and Society Hill, mainly for Gran, who has been in this car often enough but said she could not recall ever having a pleasant nighttime tour of her hometown like this. As we drew up in front of the theater it began to rain... hard. There were two vans and trailers right in front of the place, probably belonging to the bands, but Roger stopped the car right in the street and hurried round to open the door for us. We said our good-byes to Gran and him and hurried to the kerb-- without our umbrellas. Of course people looked-- they always do when there is a long car, you know. Jessy and I have learnt to pay it no mind (though I do notice and I apologise if that looks bad, you know).
The show was fine-- mostly, as my dad would say, TDL (too darned loud). The musicians wander round before and after their acts and you get to meet them, have your pictures taken, buy their t-shirts and CDs and so on. Naturally we located Jessy's friend (from FaceBook) straight away. We stood (there are no seats) and chatted amiably and it was really fun. Of course hanging round with our father has taught us that pop stars, whether they are up-and-coming or well-established, tend to be pleasant, positive people who welcome friendship and happy smiles from just about anyone. We had a few pictures taken, by each other and by strangers of both of us, you know.
After the show and during the later acts we got to talk some more with the band. I don't mention them by name here because Jessy and I are all over their MySpace page with comments, and it would be a dead cert to identify us and locate us from there-- Daddy would hate that. And Jessy's friend in the band comments frequently on hers. What proves this point is that both of us were recognised at the show by some of their other fans who have seen us on the band's MySpace pages. It was a form of celebrity-- we walked past people now and then and heard, 'Is that--?' Well that might be because we are our father's daughters. Sometimes we are recognised for that. But the worst was, 'I've seen her on their site!' --as though we were rivals for their idols' attention. So THIS is why I do not mix my chatting on AOL with my last name or my pictures!
We stood in the lobby chatting with the band whilst the people closed up and finally kicked us out. I got a text from Roger than he was waiting up the block, and we needn't hurry. It was beneficial however because Jessy's friend came out with autographed posters for each of us, and we made sure to have bought their t-shirts first anyway. Then there were hugs and kisses all round and we were 'escorted' out to the pavement.
That was at 11.45. We both stepped up the wet street to the car and promptly fell asleep, me on one of the pillows against the side of the car and Jessy lying all the way over with a pillow for her head on my leg.
...
Wednesday, 15th April
So we got home at about 3.30 am. Having slept in the car I woke up at the unreasonable hour of 8.15, then went back to sleep till 9.30, then sat up and typed in this. Jessy's friend has sent her a text message much earlier this morning, while they were on the road going back home, and she typed back, 'How on earth are you even awake!' But his enthusiasm and energy is boundless-- as with most drummers we've known!
It's raining rather steadily but it is not cold. I sit here naked typing in this... looking forward to a long pleasant rest today!
...
24 March 2009
'To wardrobe' = a verb meaning to use anything you already have in a creative way.
Tuesday evening, 24 March 2009
Lisa is upset. Well, wait-- I must go back.
This past weekend, Daddy drove the 1961 Buick up to New Jersey, where he keeps his cars, and brought back the 1965 convertible. The 1965 convertible is just like the one he had back in the '70s when the band was first starting out, and in that time the big blue Buick was a common sight up and down the Island. Much later in life he located another one and had it rebuilt to copy the first one. It is a metallic light blue with white lower panels, white upholstery, and a white hood (top). There are bucket seats and the manual gearchange is in the console and it has chrome wheels and lettered tyres. And it's big-- really big, the way they haven't made cars for 30 years.
Of course when he first got the jet boat back in about 1978 he had it painted to match the 1965 convertible, in the same metallic blue with a white bottom and a white flames design on the deck. So, if you are following this, you can conclude that my daddy had gone to get the 1965 convertible this weekend for a reason. On Monday morning he drove Jessy and me to school in it and then disappeared 'on an errand', but I had him figured out by the end of the school day when he came to collect us... and yes, there was a trailer-towing ball beneath the back bumper of the 1965 convertible. How did I guess? --now that he has the original boat back, he would ensure that the car truly matches the one he once had, for 30 years ago he used to tow the Buick-powered jet boat with the 1965 Buick convertible he had then. I giggled till it embarrassed him. But this is what we love about our daddy. His optimism and sentimentality have got us through some very trying times, and there isn't one of us who would ever want him to change a single bit.
Over dinner last night he announced that, with the weather improving so dramatically, he was looking forward to commemorating the start of the season by towing the jet boat with the 1965 convertible over the Ferry and up the Parkway to the beach house where we will use the boat this summer. When he gets excited like this there's no stopping him. So we all discussed who would ride in which car (for of course someone has to take pictures!) and what we would all wear for the commemorative start-of-the-season event. Since I already have a red-and-white polkadot swimsuit that matches the softball team's jerseys I decided I would find one in the same blue as the car and the boat, hopefully with a complimentary white in it too. Little Lisa said she wanted the same thing; but that was just a ruse to get to go shopping with Jessy and me because, as Mother said, Lisa already has a white one-piece that would do just fine, especially if we are in blue. Lisa is a little too little for a two-piece anyway. (I never understood that-- and never wore a two-piece myself till I was old enough to... fit one. What is the point of a 5-year-old in a bikini?)
This morning I was saying good-bye to little Lisa (which really means we were hugging the stuffing out of each other) and we looked up as Jessy descended to the front hall. My mouth dropped open, and then I started to laugh. After all, we already knew Jessy already had the perfect swimsuit to wear when Daddy takes us out on the speedboat. It's a traditional Speedo racing one-piece in the very same light blue as the car and the boat... and THIS is what she wore to school today, as a shiny light blue leotard under her little tan cotton ruffle skirt and a white shirt with the tails tied round her middle, with opaque white tights and her tan round-toed pumps. This is my sister! --wearing a swimsuit to high school! --and it was superb and yet tasteful in every way.
Mother was impressed. 'You look... cute,' she finally pronounced.
Jessy shrugged, with a cute toss of her head (and those natural curls never fall out, unless of course she lets them fall out, and either way she's stunning-- grrr). I giggled. Lisa did too, mainly because I did, and then she said, 'Is that your bathing suit?'
Jessy shrugged again. 'People wear leotards under other stuff,' she said. We know. She has. I suppose we all have-- even Mother.
'It's brilliant,' I said to her.
'Mummy!' Lisa raved excitedly then, even as Jessy and I were kissing her good-bye. 'Can I wear mine too? The white one you said I have? Can I wear it too--' now she was looking at Jessy-- 'with my little brown skirt, and a shirt tied like that... and I could wear my good church shoes-- And did I get my white tights for Easter yet? Mummy!'
Lisa is still upset over it.
...
Lisa is upset. Well, wait-- I must go back.
This past weekend, Daddy drove the 1961 Buick up to New Jersey, where he keeps his cars, and brought back the 1965 convertible. The 1965 convertible is just like the one he had back in the '70s when the band was first starting out, and in that time the big blue Buick was a common sight up and down the Island. Much later in life he located another one and had it rebuilt to copy the first one. It is a metallic light blue with white lower panels, white upholstery, and a white hood (top). There are bucket seats and the manual gearchange is in the console and it has chrome wheels and lettered tyres. And it's big-- really big, the way they haven't made cars for 30 years.
Of course when he first got the jet boat back in about 1978 he had it painted to match the 1965 convertible, in the same metallic blue with a white bottom and a white flames design on the deck. So, if you are following this, you can conclude that my daddy had gone to get the 1965 convertible this weekend for a reason. On Monday morning he drove Jessy and me to school in it and then disappeared 'on an errand', but I had him figured out by the end of the school day when he came to collect us... and yes, there was a trailer-towing ball beneath the back bumper of the 1965 convertible. How did I guess? --now that he has the original boat back, he would ensure that the car truly matches the one he once had, for 30 years ago he used to tow the Buick-powered jet boat with the 1965 Buick convertible he had then. I giggled till it embarrassed him. But this is what we love about our daddy. His optimism and sentimentality have got us through some very trying times, and there isn't one of us who would ever want him to change a single bit.
Over dinner last night he announced that, with the weather improving so dramatically, he was looking forward to commemorating the start of the season by towing the jet boat with the 1965 convertible over the Ferry and up the Parkway to the beach house where we will use the boat this summer. When he gets excited like this there's no stopping him. So we all discussed who would ride in which car (for of course someone has to take pictures!) and what we would all wear for the commemorative start-of-the-season event. Since I already have a red-and-white polkadot swimsuit that matches the softball team's jerseys I decided I would find one in the same blue as the car and the boat, hopefully with a complimentary white in it too. Little Lisa said she wanted the same thing; but that was just a ruse to get to go shopping with Jessy and me because, as Mother said, Lisa already has a white one-piece that would do just fine, especially if we are in blue. Lisa is a little too little for a two-piece anyway. (I never understood that-- and never wore a two-piece myself till I was old enough to... fit one. What is the point of a 5-year-old in a bikini?)
This morning I was saying good-bye to little Lisa (which really means we were hugging the stuffing out of each other) and we looked up as Jessy descended to the front hall. My mouth dropped open, and then I started to laugh. After all, we already knew Jessy already had the perfect swimsuit to wear when Daddy takes us out on the speedboat. It's a traditional Speedo racing one-piece in the very same light blue as the car and the boat... and THIS is what she wore to school today, as a shiny light blue leotard under her little tan cotton ruffle skirt and a white shirt with the tails tied round her middle, with opaque white tights and her tan round-toed pumps. This is my sister! --wearing a swimsuit to high school! --and it was superb and yet tasteful in every way.
Mother was impressed. 'You look... cute,' she finally pronounced.
Jessy shrugged, with a cute toss of her head (and those natural curls never fall out, unless of course she lets them fall out, and either way she's stunning-- grrr). I giggled. Lisa did too, mainly because I did, and then she said, 'Is that your bathing suit?'
Jessy shrugged again. 'People wear leotards under other stuff,' she said. We know. She has. I suppose we all have-- even Mother.
'It's brilliant,' I said to her.
'Mummy!' Lisa raved excitedly then, even as Jessy and I were kissing her good-bye. 'Can I wear mine too? The white one you said I have? Can I wear it too--' now she was looking at Jessy-- 'with my little brown skirt, and a shirt tied like that... and I could wear my good church shoes-- And did I get my white tights for Easter yet? Mummy!'
Lisa is still upset over it.
...
07 January 2009
How Daddy got his boat back
Tuesday 6 January 2009
This afternoon Roger, our driver, pulled in to the yard with his classic Chevy Suburban towing a trailer with a faded blue-and-white speedboat on it. It was one of the few times I have ever heard my father scream spontaneously. I had been feeling under the weather and had said I would lie down but I ended up reading and so I heard him cry out down stairs. And naturally I-- as well as everyone else-- ran down to see what had excited him.
The boat is a 1976 Sidewinder fibreglass speedboat, 18 feet long, metallic silver blue (same colour as my car) with a white flame design on the front, with bucket seats in the middle and a bench seat across the back in white upholstery and a big engine in the back with a water-jet drive behind it. My dad got it in about 1979 after they had made a few hit records and the previous owner had blown up the motor (it happens). At that time he had a big convertible Buick and decided to put a Buick engine into the boat. He used it often on Barnegat Bay till that fateful year... and after his fiancee died and he left the country for a while the boat sat forlorn and forgotten on a trailer at the band's beach house till the band was dissolved and so many important things were being considered that really made the boat seem unimportant. By the time he got back from London the beach house had been sold with a lot of other stuff, including the boat and its trailer. Daddy went on with his life, met Mommy, got married, had a custom 34-foot sailboat built for Delaware Bay, and the speedboat only remained in his memories, along with his fiancee with whom he had enjoyed the boat and all the hopes and dreams they had for a future that never happened. Knowing Daddy he has been hanging onto those memories, maybe only for himself, because he is the only one alive for whom they still even exist at all.
As it turns out the boat was bought by someone who actually took care of it, an older man in the military who eventually died, or went to Southeast Asia (there are two versions of the story). This next owner let the boat sit for another long period, unused, till a much younger guy bought it and used it for a short while up in New York State. I do not remember how the boat came to be up there. It sat in a shed or a garage for another half-dozen years and finally someone's mother, or wife, offered it up for sale at an antiques auction up there. And someone from northern New Jersey bought and brought it back to its home state. (I am sure none of these people were aware of who once owned it.) This last owner is a friend of one of Roger's friends and Roger happened to hear that he might want to sell it. On a chance that it might turn out to be the very boat it actually turned out to be, Roger drove all the way up to Bergen County this past weekend and brought it home for Daddy.
Now Roger has been in the classic-cars business for longer than he has worked for Daddy, going back to about the same time as when Daddy bought the speedboat to begin with. So Roger knew the boat long ago, and he recognised it at first glance this past weekend. I do not know how much he paid for it, but the boat seems to be in surprisingly good condition. It has never been repainted. The upholstery on the front seats has been mended but the back seat is original (to when Daddy got it). It is even still on the original trailer (the tyres are much newer however). Best of all the engine still runs. The big Buick v-8 is one of Daddy's favourite engines-- he has several in his collection now-- and part of the reason is its durability and longevity.
Once he got over his initial shock (though he and Roger are very close I have never seen Daddy actually HUG him before!) the two of them-- and Jessy, who was feeling better than I was-- rolled the boat on its trailer into the long garage and hooked up a hose for cooling water and a newer battery for starting and got it running straight away. In spite of the light, somewhat nasty little drizzle, they left the roll-up door open and all through the house you could hear the musical blare of those wide-open exhaust pipes like a military fanfare. I stood in the kitchen leaning over the sink to see out the window, watching water run all over the tarmac and the occasional puff of smoke float out the doorway. Daddy was like a little kid with a new set of trains (and yes, he does have trains too) and didn't seem to want to shut it down. It was fully dark and fully raining by the time they brought down the door and came up for supper.
'Well?' I asked at the table. 'What's the verdict?'
He smiled. 'Well, it's still holding pretty good compression and the top end doesn't make too much noise.'
I frowned at that and Jessy laughed. 'Is it bad enough to rebuild it first?' she asked him.
I frowned again. 'Nah,' he said. 'A can of Marvel Mystery Oil should give it a few more seasons.'
(I still don't know what's so special about Marvel Mystery Oil, but I have heard him say that so many times I probably should.)
Though I am still typing this I got ready for bed about an hour ago, just after I came back up stairs. At 11.00 I had been in the kitchen getting a glass of cranberry juice when I saw the light on down in the back garage. No, I did not have to ask-- I know my daddy well enough. Even as I stood there he stepped backwards out the open garage door, stood there in the rain staring back at it, and then finally said some gentle comment at his fibreglass prodigal child before bringing down the door.
...
This afternoon Roger, our driver, pulled in to the yard with his classic Chevy Suburban towing a trailer with a faded blue-and-white speedboat on it. It was one of the few times I have ever heard my father scream spontaneously. I had been feeling under the weather and had said I would lie down but I ended up reading and so I heard him cry out down stairs. And naturally I-- as well as everyone else-- ran down to see what had excited him.
The boat is a 1976 Sidewinder fibreglass speedboat, 18 feet long, metallic silver blue (same colour as my car) with a white flame design on the front, with bucket seats in the middle and a bench seat across the back in white upholstery and a big engine in the back with a water-jet drive behind it. My dad got it in about 1979 after they had made a few hit records and the previous owner had blown up the motor (it happens). At that time he had a big convertible Buick and decided to put a Buick engine into the boat. He used it often on Barnegat Bay till that fateful year... and after his fiancee died and he left the country for a while the boat sat forlorn and forgotten on a trailer at the band's beach house till the band was dissolved and so many important things were being considered that really made the boat seem unimportant. By the time he got back from London the beach house had been sold with a lot of other stuff, including the boat and its trailer. Daddy went on with his life, met Mommy, got married, had a custom 34-foot sailboat built for Delaware Bay, and the speedboat only remained in his memories, along with his fiancee with whom he had enjoyed the boat and all the hopes and dreams they had for a future that never happened. Knowing Daddy he has been hanging onto those memories, maybe only for himself, because he is the only one alive for whom they still even exist at all.
As it turns out the boat was bought by someone who actually took care of it, an older man in the military who eventually died, or went to Southeast Asia (there are two versions of the story). This next owner let the boat sit for another long period, unused, till a much younger guy bought it and used it for a short while up in New York State. I do not remember how the boat came to be up there. It sat in a shed or a garage for another half-dozen years and finally someone's mother, or wife, offered it up for sale at an antiques auction up there. And someone from northern New Jersey bought and brought it back to its home state. (I am sure none of these people were aware of who once owned it.) This last owner is a friend of one of Roger's friends and Roger happened to hear that he might want to sell it. On a chance that it might turn out to be the very boat it actually turned out to be, Roger drove all the way up to Bergen County this past weekend and brought it home for Daddy.
Now Roger has been in the classic-cars business for longer than he has worked for Daddy, going back to about the same time as when Daddy bought the speedboat to begin with. So Roger knew the boat long ago, and he recognised it at first glance this past weekend. I do not know how much he paid for it, but the boat seems to be in surprisingly good condition. It has never been repainted. The upholstery on the front seats has been mended but the back seat is original (to when Daddy got it). It is even still on the original trailer (the tyres are much newer however). Best of all the engine still runs. The big Buick v-8 is one of Daddy's favourite engines-- he has several in his collection now-- and part of the reason is its durability and longevity.
Once he got over his initial shock (though he and Roger are very close I have never seen Daddy actually HUG him before!) the two of them-- and Jessy, who was feeling better than I was-- rolled the boat on its trailer into the long garage and hooked up a hose for cooling water and a newer battery for starting and got it running straight away. In spite of the light, somewhat nasty little drizzle, they left the roll-up door open and all through the house you could hear the musical blare of those wide-open exhaust pipes like a military fanfare. I stood in the kitchen leaning over the sink to see out the window, watching water run all over the tarmac and the occasional puff of smoke float out the doorway. Daddy was like a little kid with a new set of trains (and yes, he does have trains too) and didn't seem to want to shut it down. It was fully dark and fully raining by the time they brought down the door and came up for supper.
'Well?' I asked at the table. 'What's the verdict?'
He smiled. 'Well, it's still holding pretty good compression and the top end doesn't make too much noise.'
I frowned at that and Jessy laughed. 'Is it bad enough to rebuild it first?' she asked him.
I frowned again. 'Nah,' he said. 'A can of Marvel Mystery Oil should give it a few more seasons.'
(I still don't know what's so special about Marvel Mystery Oil, but I have heard him say that so many times I probably should.)
Though I am still typing this I got ready for bed about an hour ago, just after I came back up stairs. At 11.00 I had been in the kitchen getting a glass of cranberry juice when I saw the light on down in the back garage. No, I did not have to ask-- I know my daddy well enough. Even as I stood there he stepped backwards out the open garage door, stood there in the rain staring back at it, and then finally said some gentle comment at his fibreglass prodigal child before bringing down the door.
...
15 December 2008
From Rover to Regal
Monday 15 December 2008
The day dawned cloudy and grey but I would not be dismayed. After an early and thorough shower I dressed in well-worn jeans, my navy-blue sweater, and my dark-brown maryjanes with the heels that are like 1-1/2" and the plain wide belt that matches them (sort of). And I wore my new (for my birthday) patchwork leather jacket with its hood and white (faux) fur trim. Roger arrived to drive us to school. This was arranged, for if I were to drive myself we would have the problem of Daddy getting to school to meet me. I was adamant about going directly from school.
At school I was very anxious all day. I say 'anxious'-- I do not say 'nervous'. It was the excited flutter of a child looking forward to seeing Father Christmas-- um, Santa Claus again, sorry. (I have not seen him as 'Santa Claus' in two years, but it is definitely something I will have to do later this week... of course.) After English I deposited everything in my locker (what care I for homework when there is driving to be done?) got my jacket, and skipped out to the kerb. There was the queue of buses, but no Daddy. Rita and Jessy (those two a pretty steady pair by now) came out, waved to Roger as he pulled in, and then said good-bye to me. I stamped my foot, frustrated. Jessy stopped halfway to the open door. 'What's wrong?' she asked me.
I made a pout. 'Daddy's not here yet,' I said.
'Yes he is.'
I whirled round, seeing the now-familiar blue-and-white Buick coming in from the road. 'Yay,' I said, honestly still doing the little-kid thing.
Daddy pulled up behind the dark-green Cadillac and got out. 'Sorry,' he said over the bonnet. 'I had to get gas.'
I nodded, smiling happily. Jessy and Daddy said good-bye and stepped off the kerb and went round to the offside-- um, driver's side. Then Daddy opened the other door and got in. 'All set?' he asked.
I nodded. 'Ready when you are.'
He nodded too and then laid a hand on my leg, like he often does, like to give comfort. At once he bent his fingers and pinched me-- or, actually, could not. 'What's this, paint?' he teased. 'I thought it was pants.'
I blushed. 'It's just jeans, Daddy!'
'Hmmm.'
I have mentioned before somewhere that my daddy collects cars. His collection is by no means ostentatious nor even very extensive, consisting merely of half a dozen older Buicks, the Jensen-Healey, and an unfinished restoration project of a Camaro convertible. Being sentimental he acquired copies of the first two cars he ever drove, a powder-blue 1968 Riviera and a navy-blue 1965 Wildcat convertible. Both the Wildcat and the 1961 Invicta are fitted with manual gearchange. One came from the factory specially-ordered like that and one Daddy had installed (I forget which). When Mother was our nanny he provided her with a silver-blue 1962 Skylark for commuting to and from university. That is the car I secretly suspected he would endow me with-- but that was not to be.
The car I have been learning on is a 1985 Regal T-Type coupe, all beautifully restored in a soft medium blue with a white hood (okay, roof) and white seats on a black carpet. It has alloy wheels and the 4.3-litre v-6 engine which Daddy says is one of his favourites (like the one in Mother's Skylark till he changed it back to the original v-8) and-- yes-- a 5-speed manual gearbox also was custom-fitted and the car is probably one-of-a-kind.
I have to apologise since all my terminology about the car is so British. It's only been since we've had Mother (meaning our stepmother, who's from Australia) and since we went to England that I began to get even remotely interested in cars and driving. At HOH we had a part-time class in driving and it was all 'propshaft' and 'dampers' and 'silencer' and 'bonnet' and 'windscreen' and I just learned it the way it was taught. Daddy gave me a few lessons in the car park when we were in Norwich, with the grey-green Rover we had there. Now I know some people find switching over from right to left to be a problem, especially when the shift patterns are different. The Rover in England had first gear up by your passenger's knee, Daddy's Jensen-Healey has it next to your own knee, since it's on your right hand, and the T-Type has it back by your hip. But I just look at the top of the gear lever, which usually has a diagram of the pattern, and I do not find it a problem at all to find the co-ordination, whichever hand I have to use.
I will say here that Jessy, who is over a year younger than me, has never driven on either the right or the left-- all she has ever driven has been the garden tractor, motor-scooters, and the junior Formula cars and karts she raced in England, and none of them are specific to any particular side.
Daddy has been the ideal driving teacher, more of a coach than a police officer about it. I cannot say I have not made mistakes and some of them have been almost dangerous and definitely illegal. That is in the nature of learning to drive. What I cherish so much about Daddy is that he is by nature very sweet-hearted and forgiving. He does not expect me to be perfect, at anything, really, and so treats me not with exacting standards but as a pretty decent person doing a pretty decent job. To please him I have done my level best, and I have to say I have learned it all pretty well.
We drove up to the DMV agency in Onancock and Daddy came in with me when I presented my paperwork. They assigned me an examiner and told me where to wait with the car. Daddy came with me (I would have insisted even if they had let me, as a student, drive the car round the building alone, because I was not feeling pretty nervous) till the DMV examiner came. The examiner was about 35, tall, exceedingly slender, with jet-black hair and steel-grey eyes, wearing silver metal-framed glasses and an official-looking black wool overcoat. He seemed like the coldest, severest examiner in the world and my heart rose to my throat. He got in to the car beside me and looked at the clipboard. 'You are... Janine?'
'Yes, Sir.'
'Nice car,' he said, looking round inside it. 'What year?'
I looked at him, trying not to appear terrified, although I really think I could not have looked too flirtatious either. Some girls try that, you know. ' 'Eighty-five,' I said.
He nodded. 'Very good.' Then he noticed. 'It's a stick.'
I nodded. 'Yes, Sir.'
'Why the Delaware plates?' he asked.
'Oh,' I said, not having expected that. 'My daddy collects cars, and that's where they're kept. He just let me learn on this one.'
The guy nodded. 'Very good.' Then he looked at me and smiled. 'Well, shall we go, then? Buckled up?'
I was. He wasn't, and got his belt on. He directed me to pull out and I signalled for it, and we proceeded with the driving course. I was not nervous. I was very smooth with all the changes and especially with the brakes. Daddy had taught me what his father had once taught him and called 'the chauffeur stop'. No matter how hard you have to brake, just before the car comes to a full stop, you lift the pedal and then bring it to a stop from that very low speed. Your passengers will not snap backwards from the sharp stop. I have practised it and can do it almost without notice. Exactly once the examiner indicated one of the turns too late-- it's said they do this on purpose-- and I had to brake hard and come to a full stop which I did to, well, perfection-- if I have to be the one to say it.
'Very good,' the examiner said, and then he was all too willing to overlook my slight awkwardness with the clutch during my k-turn. (No, I did NOT stall it. Not once.) In parallel parking I just remembered what I had been taught, to line myself up with the driver's seat in the other car, turn when my shoulder passes the other car's corner, and then turn back when my front corner will pass clear. I got it to within a foot or so of the kerb on the first try.
'Where did you get your lessons?' the examiner said. 'Nandua--?'
I shrugged. 'No, not at school, Sir. Just... my dad.'
'This is your first try?'
I nodded, looking at him as he looked at me again.
'Very good,' he said. 'Now, out here, and up to the corner.'
I nodded. 'Yes, Sir.'
Fifteen minutes later I had a plastic card in my hand with my photo on it and the words 'Commonwealth of Virginia' across the top. The examiner saw me as we stepped out of the building. 'Good luck,' he said, smiling at me. He didn't look so severe now. 'Be careful, now.'
'Yes, Sir. Thank you.'
'Thank you,' he said, and Daddy and I got into the T-Type then.
On the ride back Daddy asked me all about how my exam had gone, what I had to do, how I did, what the guy said. Finally I got up my nerve and said, 'So, Daddy....'
'Yes?' he asked warily-- as well he might have.
'I was wondering.... Well, Jessy and I, and some of the girls, want to finish our Christmas shopping, and I was going to ask....'
'Here if comes,' he said.
'... if would be all right if we could... go down to the mall. In VB. You know....'
'Wait-- tonight?'
'No,' I said quickly. 'Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow... after school.'
He made a wry smile at me. 'I am assuming you'll want to drive this car to school tomorrow.'
I blushed. 'Well....'
'Drive to school tomorrow, but let Roger drive you down to VB. I would worry about you coming home over that bridge in the dark. And this road can be dangerous. The people here drive like they're asleep half the time.' Then he thought a moment. 'I'd feel better about it if you were able to come home in daylight, you know.'
I nodded, hiding a smile. 'Yes, Daddy. It's all right.' That's my daddy.
...
The day dawned cloudy and grey but I would not be dismayed. After an early and thorough shower I dressed in well-worn jeans, my navy-blue sweater, and my dark-brown maryjanes with the heels that are like 1-1/2" and the plain wide belt that matches them (sort of). And I wore my new (for my birthday) patchwork leather jacket with its hood and white (faux) fur trim. Roger arrived to drive us to school. This was arranged, for if I were to drive myself we would have the problem of Daddy getting to school to meet me. I was adamant about going directly from school.
At school I was very anxious all day. I say 'anxious'-- I do not say 'nervous'. It was the excited flutter of a child looking forward to seeing Father Christmas-- um, Santa Claus again, sorry. (I have not seen him as 'Santa Claus' in two years, but it is definitely something I will have to do later this week... of course.) After English I deposited everything in my locker (what care I for homework when there is driving to be done?) got my jacket, and skipped out to the kerb. There was the queue of buses, but no Daddy. Rita and Jessy (those two a pretty steady pair by now) came out, waved to Roger as he pulled in, and then said good-bye to me. I stamped my foot, frustrated. Jessy stopped halfway to the open door. 'What's wrong?' she asked me.
I made a pout. 'Daddy's not here yet,' I said.
'Yes he is.'
I whirled round, seeing the now-familiar blue-and-white Buick coming in from the road. 'Yay,' I said, honestly still doing the little-kid thing.
Daddy pulled up behind the dark-green Cadillac and got out. 'Sorry,' he said over the bonnet. 'I had to get gas.'
I nodded, smiling happily. Jessy and Daddy said good-bye and stepped off the kerb and went round to the offside-- um, driver's side. Then Daddy opened the other door and got in. 'All set?' he asked.
I nodded. 'Ready when you are.'
He nodded too and then laid a hand on my leg, like he often does, like to give comfort. At once he bent his fingers and pinched me-- or, actually, could not. 'What's this, paint?' he teased. 'I thought it was pants.'
I blushed. 'It's just jeans, Daddy!'
'Hmmm.'
I have mentioned before somewhere that my daddy collects cars. His collection is by no means ostentatious nor even very extensive, consisting merely of half a dozen older Buicks, the Jensen-Healey, and an unfinished restoration project of a Camaro convertible. Being sentimental he acquired copies of the first two cars he ever drove, a powder-blue 1968 Riviera and a navy-blue 1965 Wildcat convertible. Both the Wildcat and the 1961 Invicta are fitted with manual gearchange. One came from the factory specially-ordered like that and one Daddy had installed (I forget which). When Mother was our nanny he provided her with a silver-blue 1962 Skylark for commuting to and from university. That is the car I secretly suspected he would endow me with-- but that was not to be.
The car I have been learning on is a 1985 Regal T-Type coupe, all beautifully restored in a soft medium blue with a white hood (okay, roof) and white seats on a black carpet. It has alloy wheels and the 4.3-litre v-6 engine which Daddy says is one of his favourites (like the one in Mother's Skylark till he changed it back to the original v-8) and-- yes-- a 5-speed manual gearbox also was custom-fitted and the car is probably one-of-a-kind.
I have to apologise since all my terminology about the car is so British. It's only been since we've had Mother (meaning our stepmother, who's from Australia) and since we went to England that I began to get even remotely interested in cars and driving. At HOH we had a part-time class in driving and it was all 'propshaft' and 'dampers' and 'silencer' and 'bonnet' and 'windscreen' and I just learned it the way it was taught. Daddy gave me a few lessons in the car park when we were in Norwich, with the grey-green Rover we had there. Now I know some people find switching over from right to left to be a problem, especially when the shift patterns are different. The Rover in England had first gear up by your passenger's knee, Daddy's Jensen-Healey has it next to your own knee, since it's on your right hand, and the T-Type has it back by your hip. But I just look at the top of the gear lever, which usually has a diagram of the pattern, and I do not find it a problem at all to find the co-ordination, whichever hand I have to use.
I will say here that Jessy, who is over a year younger than me, has never driven on either the right or the left-- all she has ever driven has been the garden tractor, motor-scooters, and the junior Formula cars and karts she raced in England, and none of them are specific to any particular side.
Daddy has been the ideal driving teacher, more of a coach than a police officer about it. I cannot say I have not made mistakes and some of them have been almost dangerous and definitely illegal. That is in the nature of learning to drive. What I cherish so much about Daddy is that he is by nature very sweet-hearted and forgiving. He does not expect me to be perfect, at anything, really, and so treats me not with exacting standards but as a pretty decent person doing a pretty decent job. To please him I have done my level best, and I have to say I have learned it all pretty well.
We drove up to the DMV agency in Onancock and Daddy came in with me when I presented my paperwork. They assigned me an examiner and told me where to wait with the car. Daddy came with me (I would have insisted even if they had let me, as a student, drive the car round the building alone, because I was not feeling pretty nervous) till the DMV examiner came. The examiner was about 35, tall, exceedingly slender, with jet-black hair and steel-grey eyes, wearing silver metal-framed glasses and an official-looking black wool overcoat. He seemed like the coldest, severest examiner in the world and my heart rose to my throat. He got in to the car beside me and looked at the clipboard. 'You are... Janine?'
'Yes, Sir.'
'Nice car,' he said, looking round inside it. 'What year?'
I looked at him, trying not to appear terrified, although I really think I could not have looked too flirtatious either. Some girls try that, you know. ' 'Eighty-five,' I said.
He nodded. 'Very good.' Then he noticed. 'It's a stick.'
I nodded. 'Yes, Sir.'
'Why the Delaware plates?' he asked.
'Oh,' I said, not having expected that. 'My daddy collects cars, and that's where they're kept. He just let me learn on this one.'
The guy nodded. 'Very good.' Then he looked at me and smiled. 'Well, shall we go, then? Buckled up?'
I was. He wasn't, and got his belt on. He directed me to pull out and I signalled for it, and we proceeded with the driving course. I was not nervous. I was very smooth with all the changes and especially with the brakes. Daddy had taught me what his father had once taught him and called 'the chauffeur stop'. No matter how hard you have to brake, just before the car comes to a full stop, you lift the pedal and then bring it to a stop from that very low speed. Your passengers will not snap backwards from the sharp stop. I have practised it and can do it almost without notice. Exactly once the examiner indicated one of the turns too late-- it's said they do this on purpose-- and I had to brake hard and come to a full stop which I did to, well, perfection-- if I have to be the one to say it.
'Very good,' the examiner said, and then he was all too willing to overlook my slight awkwardness with the clutch during my k-turn. (No, I did NOT stall it. Not once.) In parallel parking I just remembered what I had been taught, to line myself up with the driver's seat in the other car, turn when my shoulder passes the other car's corner, and then turn back when my front corner will pass clear. I got it to within a foot or so of the kerb on the first try.
'Where did you get your lessons?' the examiner said. 'Nandua--?'
I shrugged. 'No, not at school, Sir. Just... my dad.'
'This is your first try?'
I nodded, looking at him as he looked at me again.
'Very good,' he said. 'Now, out here, and up to the corner.'
I nodded. 'Yes, Sir.'
Fifteen minutes later I had a plastic card in my hand with my photo on it and the words 'Commonwealth of Virginia' across the top. The examiner saw me as we stepped out of the building. 'Good luck,' he said, smiling at me. He didn't look so severe now. 'Be careful, now.'
'Yes, Sir. Thank you.'
'Thank you,' he said, and Daddy and I got into the T-Type then.
On the ride back Daddy asked me all about how my exam had gone, what I had to do, how I did, what the guy said. Finally I got up my nerve and said, 'So, Daddy....'
'Yes?' he asked warily-- as well he might have.
'I was wondering.... Well, Jessy and I, and some of the girls, want to finish our Christmas shopping, and I was going to ask....'
'Here if comes,' he said.
'... if would be all right if we could... go down to the mall. In VB. You know....'
'Wait-- tonight?'
'No,' I said quickly. 'Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow... after school.'
He made a wry smile at me. 'I am assuming you'll want to drive this car to school tomorrow.'
I blushed. 'Well....'
'Drive to school tomorrow, but let Roger drive you down to VB. I would worry about you coming home over that bridge in the dark. And this road can be dangerous. The people here drive like they're asleep half the time.' Then he thought a moment. 'I'd feel better about it if you were able to come home in daylight, you know.'
I nodded, hiding a smile. 'Yes, Daddy. It's all right.' That's my daddy.
...
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