Stories From Under A Bootheel (Rants, Laughs, and Tears)

Chapter 7 My Dad Part 4 One Way

 The summer after my sophomore year of high school, my dad got a job supervising a project in the Washington D.C. area. I don't think he was very enthusiastic about it, but my sister had started at the University of Arkansas and I would be starting college in a few years so we needed the money. My dad always did what he had to in order to make sure my sister and I had everything we needed when it came to our education.  

Dad had gotten an apartment in Maryland and after he was settled in, he had me come and stay with him for a couple of weeks so I could check out the area. I spent most of my time there at the Smithsonian, especially the National Gallery of Art. The Air and Space Museum wasn't built yet. The time I spent at the National Gallery was the beginning of my lifelong love affair with art. I still remember the first time I saw Dali's Last Supper. It was a religious experience that I won't even attempt to describe.

Right after I arrived in Maryland, one of the men dad was working with, invited us to his house for dinner. He had a son about my age and he thought we might get along. His son had a pin ball machine in their basement. As this was the pre-videogame era, having one's own pinball machine was the most extravagant thing I had ever heard of. Playing pinball was the only thing the other kid and I had in common. It made for a very awkward evening.

The awkwardness actually began as we were driving to their place and our rental car broke down. My dad called them to say we couldn't make it. I don't think he had really wanted to go in the first place, but felt it was a necessary social obligation. My dad was very big on doing the right thing.

Instead of letting us out of this dinner, they volunteered to come get us. I told my dad I thought that was very nice of them. My dad said, "What else were they going to do?" My dad would often say there were three ways to do things. There was the right way, the wrong way and his way. The implication being we were always going to do it his way regardless. The truth was that in my dad's mind, when it came to social obligations, there was only one way to do things and decent people had no choice in the matter.

They picked us up by the side of the road where the rental car had died. We had a nice dinner. I got to play some pinball. My dad and I were both thankful when the rental car company showed up with another car and we got to go back to dad's apartment.

During the week, my dad would drop me off at the Smithsonian for the day while he was at work. On the weekends he would teach me to drive. My dad figured it was the ideal situation. We had to spend the time together anyway and we had a rental car so it didn't matter if I wrecked it. My view of the situation was somewhat different. The Washington beltway had six lanes going in each direction. I had never seen more than two lane traffic before. The D.C. surface streets were a maze of one-way roads in a confusing hub and spoke configuration like nowhere else. For me, it was a baptism in fire.

I was in the driver's seat of a vehicle I was totally unfamiliar with and on roads like I had never seen before. My dad was in the passenger seat with a six pack of beer beside him. It was Saturday after all and my dad always got drunk on Saturday morning. And, what better excuse for drinking than being in a car with a novice driver on unfamiliar roads?

It was a very nerve racking and interesting adventure. Here's a glimpse of what it was like. We were lost in a less than desirable part of downtown where all the roads looked alike. They were all lined by tenements with large front steps crowded with young kids seeking relief from the oppressive heat of the un-airconditioned insides of the buildings.

I turned the corner onto a street where a large number of kids were gathered on a front stoop. They all began shouting at me, "One-way, one-way!" They were pointing to the one-way sign that I had failed to see.

My dad, who by now had finished the last of his six pack, rolled down his window and hollered back at the kids, "We are only going one way." The kids all laughed and even I had to smile.