The floor of the Hurry Back In was some kind of hardwood, with the finish worn down from high heels, cowboy boots and sneakers. The juke box was playing, “Snowbird”, by Anne Murray. It was a popular song in this beach town, which only got a light dusting of snow every 20 years or so. When my dad asked me to get my guitar, and ride down to the bar with him. I was 16. My dad liked to have me sing and play the guitar for his friends. I didn’t mind, as it was one of my favorite pastimes, playing and singing in my bedroom at home. I also enjoyed playing shuffle board with him there. I don’t remember where my mom was. If she stayed home, or was at the bar, too. My sisters, and one of my brothers, had already moved out, and my other brother was on the verge of going down to San Diego for Navy bootcamp. I missed them all, but was also enjoying having my parents to myself. As the youngest kid, It was a first for me.
After playing a couple of songs for the few of the “after-work” regulars, and playing a game of shuffle board, my dad dropped his truck keys into my hand, and told me to drive across the street to JJ’s Pizza, and pick up some frog legs and pizza, for a take-out dinner. Oh god. I had a driver’s license, but had never driven his big Chevy truck. “Oookay” I took a deep breath. Putting the truck into reverse with the manual stick shift, I began to give it a little gas. Whatever the problem was, it started shaking, as I backed out, and jerking, violently, all the way across the street, in reverse, over the cement parking blocks of the Laundromat, until I could turn it off. My dad was doubtful if it was me, or something wrong with his truck, but had had the right amount of beer not to care. He was able to drive us home (around he block), and we enjoyed our pizza and frog legs It was the first time I tried them, and they weren’t bad. “Tastes like chicken,” I remarked, and thought to myself, Seems like an awful lot of work, to go through, for such a tiny bite of meat…. Oh well. We had just survived a little adventure, and I was back to enjoying the special time I was sharing with my parents.
Man! I remember those days of waiting out in the car outside of a bar with my brother for what seemed like hours ( but no doubt were just minutes) while my parents drank. A different era, to be sure! Your love for your father - and your need to be loved back are evident in this story, Sharon. Daughters and fathers can be difficult relationships.
One two four many beers. Been there twice and then some. Lucky for me my daughter was tall, and wanted me to let her drive early in the day. Didn’t have her license almost hit a tree, but she drove me home after some Grizzly beers . Love daughter for being there in the Sierras for vacation days (daze).