The Father....Part Two

Okay...here we go again. Fast forward a year. It's the end of college and, after a year of treating my car like gold...I have an accident. I completely accordion the left front fender, trying to avoid a head-on rear ender. Multi-car accident on 64/70E.



I take the car to my father's house, and I am freaking out! I was going to pick up my friend to take him shopping for his brother's birthday. I called and told him what happened, and he was just glad I was okay. My then boyfriend, Rick, and my friend Jon didn't really see eye to eye. So when I called him to tell what had happened, he asked where I was heading at the time of the accident.



I will never forget this...he to this day doesn't remember saying it (and it was totally out of character for him). As I looked out my father's window as he and his friends literally ripped the fender off my beloved car, Rick says to me "That's what you get for not being where you were supposed to be!" Yeah, traumatic, I know. I'm better now though....mostly.



So, my father has been around cars all his life. He and all his friends are in one way or another able to work on cars. From to under the hood to inside the car to on the body, there is someone for everything.



EXCEPT, when it came to me!



Noone seemed be able to fix my little fender for me. So, I drove my car for a couple of weeks without one. Hey, I was 18 and without shame...and was not about to walk!! Until, my uncle (rest his soul) went to the scrapyard and found a white one to replace the one I lost. Did I mention my car was red?



18 years old. Driving my own car. Didn't want to walk. Without Shame!



I did eventually buy some red automotive spray paint and change it to match the rest of the car....better. So once again, done WITHOUT paternal assistance.



Then, after another year or so, my beloved car started breaking down a little too frequently. One particular time, I was on my way from Springfield to E. St. Louis, it was dark already....and she broke down! My mom had already left earlier that evening, and I had just driven past the point where there were regular streetlights ceased. Yeah....good times! I sat out there for over 2 hours PRAYING noone would stop! This was long before the time of cell phones as a necessity, so I just hoped someone with one would call the police. And. Not. Stop.

Finally the police came and I was able to call my mom who picked me up. We called my father the next day to go get the car, and he did.

And it sat for over a month in his yard! Great! Thanks dad! It was finally fixed. Then my mom called him and fussed about it having taken him so long to get my car done, but noted if it was one of his friends it would have long been done! Naturally an argument ensued, they hung up on each other. I called him apparently when he was still upset and made some mention about my 'damn mammy'! Before I caught myself, I told him to watch his f-ing mouth and I hung up!

That was the only time I ever disrespected my father....and I didn't talk to him for a year. The day I decided to talk to him, I just stopped by and we hung out. There was no discussing what happened. We, in general, have a pretty superficial relationship. Yet again, this explains why I am the way I am with men.

More tomorrow.