Driving

I've meant to blog about my father for months, but my mind is swollen with so many memories that it's been hard to choose one thing to blog about. Back for my fall routine, which includes blogging, here you go- some random nothings I should re-read or edit somehow, but most likely will not (haha, I even began with a bad run-on). Some of my happiest memories have been in the car. When I think of happy memories with my father, I'd say a majority of them are in the car when I was younger, while my dad was driving. I don't remember all of the details like what was said or where we were going, but I replay these memories over and over (this isn't a "since he died" thing, I've always replayed these particular memories). In each instance I felt safe, I felt peaceful, Ii felt the eternities and I felt my earthly father's love for me.

One time, I don't know why or when- I was younger and we were driving from Santa Rosa (or some middle CA place), back home to Eureka. It was late and dark, we were listening to doo wop or something (I'll have to blog about how my dad instilled a love of music in me another time) and eating Cheetos. My dad loved Cheetos, he loves them until the day he died. For a few months after he passed away I got Cheetos every time I made the commute to or from Ogden. Driving and Cheetos made me feel close to my dad. I don't remember what was said on that drive, but I remember feeling safe, happy, peaceful and calm.

I guess it's silly the things we'll do to feel close to someone we miss. I used to like this guy and we used to, with friends, eat this snack together-creme Bingles (cheap Twinkie). Truth is, I don't like creme Bingles, but for years after spending time with said guy, I would eat Bingles and think of him (Don't worry readers, I don't get Bingles anymore, A. I don't like them, B. I don't want to think about the guy, C. This isn't about you Blake. B**ch. (like my paraphrasing 500 Days of Summer? "Author's Note: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Especially you Jenny Beckman. Bitch.")

For a while I used to smile on one side of my mouth on purpose so I could feel close to my Nana Laura (based on this photo).

Another memory I have on the car with my dad was listening to In A Gadda Da Vida. It was in my dad's beloved hunter green Izuzu Trooper. We were on the way home, in Eureka, and In A Gadda Da Vida was playing but it wasn't quite finsihed, so we parked and rocked out in the driveway until the end of the song. Since then I've always thought of my dad, good music, good times and being in cars when I hear thhis song:

One time I was in the car with my dad and he was telling me what to do in case of an emergency whilst he was driving. He said, "If I ever pass out or have a heart attack (my dad had a heart condition and diabetes) than push this button here." He then pointed to the panic button above the steering wheel. It wasn't especially a happy memory I suppose, in fact it scared me, but I always remembered it...

One of last car memories with my dad was December before he passed away. I was driving him to the doctor, more than likely begrudgingly, and he said, "You drive with your left hand too, guess where you learned that from?" Initially I was annoyed because my father was a horrifying driver in the end, and I, contrary to what my sister will tell you, think I'm a good driver. But as I thought about it, I realized he was right. I drive just like him. My father's right hand was a nub, and so he was forced to be left handed- so he drove one handed with his left. I on the other hand, have both of my hands and am right handed, and yet I still drive one handed with my left. And let's face it...I am a bit of a crazy driver ;) Additionally I love long distance driving, and I feel most at peace when I'm driving alone at night, long distance with good music- just like my dad.

I guess the point is, my dad was right. I drive like him. I'm like him. I'm emotionally, creative, logical and I love the things he loves. Good music, tennis, reading religious texts and classic literature, temple work, and driving to name a few. Maybe I'm what will help me carry on his memory...so much of what I am is from my father. So much of what I do reminds me of him, and I wouldn't have it any other way.