Interstate 20 in east Alabama was completed in the late 1960s. I was around 5, maybe 6 years old, but I remember. I remember what speed felt like. It was scary, but there was no doubt that I was safe with this man behind the wheel. He smiled when he fired up that 1955 Chevy, then cocked his jaw and turned to serious when he launched her down the stretch of interstate that had not been opened yet. I just hung on, there weren’t any seatbelts. I’m sure we weren’t supposed to be on that fresh asphalt, but he towed that race car out there and tested her just the same.
On the weekend, he would take that same 1955 Chevy to the Green Valley Dragway around Gadsden, Alabama and push her hard for an eighth of a mile. It was a rough crowd, prone to fighting, cheating and doing what it took to win. It wasn’t a place for a little boy, but I got to go a few times.
There was the time the car caught on fire, Uncle Harold was there to put it out. Uncle Harold was the chief mechanic I think; he was good with such things (engines and keeping emotions in check). The man behind the wheel didn’t care about the trophies, he gave them away. I think he did it (drag racing) just for the speed, the thrill and the competition.
The man behind the wheel was my Daddy. March 29, 2011 marked ten years since he left this track. He lived and worked hard and fast, just like he drove that Chevy at the drag strip. You can take that many ways, but I mean it in the best way possible.
The years we spend with our parents fly by. The years we spend in this life fly by. The speed sometimes scares us and we just hang on. We don’t really know how long the track is and when someone will wave the checkered flag on us. However, it is a sure thing that we won’t be taking our trophies with us.
When? How? Why? What time? I don’t know.
When children are young, they ask a million questions. They ask so many questions that parents sometimes get frustrated. I know, I’ve been there and I’ve felt guilty. We then go through years when we just wish our children would ask us just one question. You know, during those years as parents “we just don’t understand.”
When my Daddy got older and his health started to decline, I enjoyed asking him questions. He was slowing down, getting ready for the finish line. Slowing down was not something he was used to doing. His facial expressions, the way he used his hands when he talked and the way he paused stay with me. His answers stay with me.
Unfortunately, I still have more questions. These are the type of questions that you can only ask your Daddy. Fortunately, I have my Mama who is still answering “Mama Questions” with her wisdom. It is nice to have spouses, siblings, relatives and friends to confide in and ask questions, but your parents saw you naked first. They know.
My Mama will give me the answer before I ask the question – how she does that, I don’t know. I might like to ask my Daddy that one.
When speaking of my Daddy with friends and people that hear me tell stories about him, they often say “I’d like to have met him” or “I’d like to have known him.” It’s a compliment that my Daddy would appreciate. He loved my two brothers and me; we were his boys, the only trophies worth keeping.
To the folks that pay us the compliment of wishing they could have met our Daddy, a song titled “Song for Dad” comes to mind. The lyrics talk about remembering your father and seeing him every time you look in the mirror.
When somebody says I hope I get to meet your dad
I just smile and say you already have
As for me, I’m still sitting in the backseat of that 1955 Chevy letting Daddy drive. I’ll play that song by Keith Urban and know what he’s saying when he sings the following lines.
And I think I can't go on
I hear him sayin'"Son you'll be alright"
Everything's gonna be alright"
Yes it is
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Posted by: Kelley Ward | 05/04/2011 at 01:03 PM