Goodness, why did I say that?The conversation went a little like this:
"You and I are going to lunch tomorrow."
silence.I won't burden you with the details of my graceless outburst towards my dad in response to his innocent initiative, but I can tell you it wasn't pretty. You see, I'm not one who likes to be told what to do, and for some reason that particular week had supplied quite a few males who seemed to think that they knew what was best for me. But please, don't pity me. It's them you should be concerned for.
Anyway, this man was my father, and quite above all the immature and overly confident boys I had been putting up with.
A few days later, I begrudgingly traipsed down the stairs and mentally prepared myself for "lunch with Dad". But when he handed me the keys to my own car and instructed me to drive without telling me the destination, I became furious.
I dislike not knowing The Plan almost as much as I dislike being told what to do. The Plan is safe. The Plan insures my control over things. The Plan is comfortable, predictable, and easily manipulated to my own selfish gain.
As I drove, we sat in silence for a few minutes that stretched like hours, until finally the first instructions were revealed:
"Take the interstate. We're having lunch in Alabama."Now he had done it. Terror gripped me. Not only was he forcing me to do something that absolutely terrified me (driving on the highway), I had been given absolutely no warning or time to prepare myself before we embarked on the trip that was sure to end my life. What little (perceived) control I had was slipping fast, and there was nothing that I could do about it. Shoot.
The first few moments as I reluctantly steered my little Honda towards the on ramp were a blur of complete and utter terror. As I gripped the steering wheel and did my best to avoid the massive semi-trucks that seemed to be closing in on all sides, I was struck by the lack of control I had over the situation. Sure, I was the one physically driving the car, but I had no idea what I was doing. I was completely dependent on the gentle guidance of my Daddy, as he graciously taught me the rules of the road. Although I was responsible for the car's movement, I had to trust my dad to instruct me as to the direction of the vehicle.
Needless to say, we made it safely over the Alabama state line, and enjoyed lunch at a poorly decorated, but cozy little cafe. The mood was lacking and the food was mediocre at best, but the time I got to spend catching up with dad was priceless. We talked about college, and the future, and he indulged my appetite for stories by recounting his young days in the Air Force. It was perfect.
An hour and a half and three snicker doodles later we were home safe, and I had learned more than a little about my dad, myself, and life in general. I'll spare you the sentimental wrap-up where I drive home the "moral of the story". I think the story speaks for itself.
I will however, share with you one of my favorite parts of the day: Dad even remembered that "Get over my fear of the interstate" was number eight on my New Year's list.
Picture taken a few minutes beyond the Alabama border:
