Hold 'Er Tight, Dad

I'm in the passenger seat of a '93 silver Chevrolet pickup truck with the wind blowing my hair into my eyes and my dad beside me, hands firm on the wheel.

"She's strong," he says.

"WHAT?!" I scream over the wind and loud engine.

"I said, 'She's strong,' I have to hold her tight."

I'm taken back 46 years earlier in an even older pickup we called Sanford where our positions are reversed. I am at the wheel; dad, the passenger, windows down.

"Hold 'er tight," he tells me. "She'll want to pull to the right."

He is teaching me how to drive on a stick shift pickup. I am 14 years old and I have to stretch my legs full out to reach that clutch. 46 years later I still drive a stick, still stretch full out.

Since mom passed, the two of us remain, still side by side trying to survive, still loving an old vehicle, an old pickup.

Mom was so mad when he bought Sanford, mainly because of it's color -- chartreuse, but also because it was so old. The stick shift didn't bother her, she was tough, I get it from her. And she could drive anything, including my motorcycle which she crashed into her own Mustang without leaving my driveway, her mother swinging on my front patio, yelling at her. Otherwise, she drove good. I mean, normally.

Mom broke her wrist that day, requiring surgery and it never recovered well. She broke her other wrist years later, also at my house, when she missed the chair she meant to sit in. It missed her, actually, by rolling out of position. She didn't realize the chair was on wheels.

An 18-wheeler passes us on I-485 Outer and the extra gust of wind jerks the old truck. 

"Hold 'er tight!" I scream.

Dad's knuckles go white.

Dad with his first car, outside his campus dorm.

The interstate is clogged, bumper to bumper, but moving fast. Very dangerous and most cars around here have minor dents.

The 2.38% increase in population this past year has created problems for the department of transportation. 117 people move to Charlotte every day, making it one of the fastest growing cities in the US. The annoyance of which dad expresses every time we go out for a ride - or "rotating" as dad calls it. We pronounce it "rotatin'" with a nod to Uncle Moose.

When Uncle Moose and dad went out rotatin', I was not allowed to go along. I'm not positive what all they did, but once a year they would return with Uncle Moose driving a new Cadillac for Aunt Dawn. Then Moose and Dawn would have two cars in Charlotte to drive back home to upstate NY. Every year, Aunt Dawn got a new caddy and every 8 or 9 years she would get a new Doberman Pinscher. I was scared to death of those dogs. That was how my uncle expressed his love.

Dad and I pull into my brother Steve's driveway and kill the engine.

The quietness is shocking. I comb my hair with great difficulty, crank open the heavy steel door and fall out of the truck, giving my brother my usual greeting, "Oh, hi Steve."

Dad used to buy used cars in NC and we'd drive them up to NY to sell. New Yorkers loved the cars with no rust. I loved having a different car every few months. Dad would let me drive them around for a few weeks before selling them. I especially loved this one.

I don't know how many more years we have living side by side without mom, but Hold 'er tight, dad, Hold 'er tight.