I think of you a lot when I’m on the road. While we bounced along the nauseatingly dizzy Duke’s Pass in the Central Highlands. Or when I was driving tepidly along winding lanes in the Lake District, uncertain of what might appear around the next bend, I thought of the many narrow mountain passes (with frighteningly few guardrails) you drove on our family trips. Since I usually take public transportation, just being in a car at all reminds me of how safe I felt when you were behind the wheel. But now having been in the driver’s seat I know how anxiety-inducing it can actually be.
Or I think of how hard I made you work during our family trips as a kid. Like when I didn’t want to go hiking so you had to carry me piggyback all the way up. (Oops, sorry. But hey, at least it gave you a good workout!)
Twenty-some-odd years later, I hope it’s not too late to say thanks. For all the work that made those trips possible, both in terms of bringing home the bacon and actually getting us from A to B. I wish I’d appreciated it more at the time. Little did you know, you were planting the seeds of a late-blooming passion for travel!
One memory that still makes me laugh out loud every time I remember it is from a trip we took to somewhere in the Midwest. Half Dome, maybe? Or some other big rock formation. You had perched your glasses on top of your head to see better through the viewfinder of the old Nikon. A few minutes later, you asked, “Where are my glasses?”
Bro laughed so hard, pointing out that they were on your head.
Five minutes later. Bro perched his glasses on top of his head to get a better view of the big rock through one of those coin-operated binoculars.
Another few minutes pass.
Bro: “Where are my glasses?!”
Happy Father’s Day :)