After the last time I wrote things got even more interesting on our trip. When we began our drive from Cincinnati I had noticed an unusual noise in my front tire. The car had just had a great deal of work done on it and so I hoped that it was simply tightness from the new brakes or something of that nature. My dad said, "If it's gonna happen, it's gonna happen out there" (because he thinks he's Captain Ron) and so we decided to get on the road. By Oklahoma City the noise was getting much harder to ignore and I was getting worried so we went to a Firestone. They had a three hour wait before they could even take a look at it and since we had a lot of miles left to go we weren't really up to chilling that long. The guy did come out and peek under the car and check a few things on the wheel and assured us that as far as he could tell there was nothing seriously wrong. However, by the time we started driving the rest of the way through New Mexico it was apparent that something was in fact seriously wrong. I called ahead to a Firestone in Gallup, New Mexico because it was the next relatively big town. My father, who had been so optimistic before, was now beginning to worry more than me and say things like, "we're never going to make it all the way to Gallup". But alas, by the grace of whomever we did and as we pulled into the Firestone my car sounded like the biggest hoopty you've ever heard. We found out the problem was a wheel baring and within a few hours the guy was able to fix it at a pretty reasonable cost. While waiting everyone we came across started talking about the big parade that was set to happen in Gallup that night.
Gallup is right in the heart of Indian Nation, as they call it, and we had randomly shown up on the day of the 86th annual Indian ceremonial parade in which Native Americans from all over the country come to dress up and dance for the hordes of townspeople who fill the streets. We had only put in four hours of driving time that day but there was no way we could miss this so we visited a local pub, met some people at the bar and had a few brewskies and then watched the festivities. It was so fun to see an entire town so excited.
After leaving Gallup we continued westward to our next stop- the painted desert and petrified forest. For three hours we drove through some of the most dramatic and breathtaking scenery I have ever seen. An ancient basin has left behind layer after layer of brilliant colors in rolling hills and deep badlands. If I still used a film camera it would've cost me an arm and a leg to develop all the exposures I took and yet none of the pictures can do the reality justice. If a picture is worth a thousand words then seeing it with your own eyes isn't worth any because it renders you speechless.
Finally we drove to Flagstaff and up into the mountains and to the Grand Canyon. It would take a great deal longer to give that great big rivet in the earth the appropriate amount of attention but I was thrilled to get to see it for a couple hours. Unfortunately, my dad's health was a factor impending my ability to really enjoy the Canyon. Which brings me to a serious issue in my life as I'm getting older.
My father is one of the most amazing men I have ever encountered in my life. He inspires me to find a man who respects women and treats me well. He inspires me to treat all people well. He has so much to do with the person I have become today and will continue to grow into as time passes, which is somewhat ironic given our dramatically different approaches and views on just about every touchy subject.
As a child it is difficult to see the true humanity that is in all persons, but especially that which exists in our parents. Looking back I realize that to some degree I sincerely believed in my youth that my father was something of a superhero. A builder by profession, I saw him shape raw materials into structures. In our small town everyone knew him making it difficult to ever go out without his interacting with a handful of people. He was always kind and funny to every friend or stranger he came across. My family often wonders why I am so trusting and social but looking at him it is so obvious. Our 'annual' pig roasts complete with tons of grub and drink and even hay rides drew hundreds of people to our house. The parties every Christmas for two days filled the rooms with laughter, song, love, and tons of people making it hard for me to understand Christmas for anyone being anything less than an enormous celebration. Dad was always the vibrant host, cook, and creator of the secret 'recipe', an eggnog known to have knocked many on their butts over the years and even rumored to have led to one of my cousins. When any toy I had became broken, no matter how or what the problem I left it on the counter for Dad and awoke the next day to a perfectly good plaything. I firmly believed that my father could do just about anything, even buying into his story about how he hung the moon each night from his giant ladder in the barn.
As the years past and childhood drifted a lot of hard realities creeped into the picture I had of my father. The hardest being a very serious addiction to alcohol. What I hadn't known and still continue to understand more and more as I grow into a woman is the incredible loneliness that existed in my home. My mother did everything in the world for my brother and I. My father was a provider, a wonderful man, a fun person, and a hero to me but he was owned by an illness that few understand who haven't been so intimate with it. He loved and still loves my mother with all of his heart but alcohol had a hold on him that prevented him from being the husband and father my mother had dreamed of. After 20 long years of enduring a very painful situation my mother made the very difficult decision to get out of it. Their divorce when I was 12 was incredibly hard on my father. The Kenny Chesney song That's why I'm here (http://www.songmeanings.net/lyric.php?lid=124871) rings poignantly true for loved ones of alcoholics, and for my father the most important lines of that song were " I know for us it may be too late, But it would mean the world to me If you were there when I stand to say: It's the simple things in life Like the kids at home and a loving wife That you miss the most, when you lose control and everything you love starts to disappear, the devil takes your hand says 'have no fear, have another shot; just one more beer".
The end of my parents marriage was a blow I don't think my father truly ever recovered from. When the door had closed on the opportunity to bring any hope into their relationship he lost hope in everything else for many years. Our relationship with one another was tumultuous during that dark time in his life. We would sometimes go months without speaking, sometimes only speak to argue about his life choices. I felt bitter, abandoned, betrayed. My Superman had fallen and I was too young to understand the real dimensions of what had taken him from me.
Now here I am, I am grown. I am older than my mother was when my parents were married and yet I don't feel adult enough to make many decisions at all. Yet, I am old enough to see how we are all flawed, all prone to err, even prone to lose control. Each decision we make effects our lives in ways big and small and sometimes I may take years to really see the results. I now feel nothing but enormous love and tenderness towards my aging father. Our drive across the country together was probably the most time we've ever shared all at once. We talked, we laughed, we saw the country and I am so grateful for it. My heart broke a little for I know my father may not have much time left and that our drive may be one of the last great memories I get to have of him. His hair, nearly all turned to gray now, his aging body which seems to shrivel up more and more and to betray him with the great pain it causes him to suffer. A lifelong smoker he becomes easily short of breath. By 9 pm each night he is difficult to communicate seriously with because of the amount of bourbon he has already consumed throughout the course of the day. Through it all he is still my hero. It is obvious he cares not for himself but for his family and loved ones. A part of me resents him for not trying harder to be around to walk me down the isle or see his future grandbabies, or just to be there for John and I for plenty of visits back to Ohio. Yet, I know we cannot force people to change their lives and to worry constantly about them doing so will only be a burden on ourselves and them. I hope deeply that my father is around for all of those things for I see now that I love him even more than I ever knew before. Regardless, our six days of driving into the sun will forever bring a smile to my face and a tear to my eye and remind me to be a better person regardless of who I am.
