When I was a kid, my dad was notorious for taking ALOT longer to get us home then he actually needed to. Whether it was unecessary errands, or stopping off at grandma or grandpas, getting home to call my friends (who I had just seen all day at school) seemed like it would never come, and I usually told my dad how I felt.
The worse case scenario was if dad was feeling especially nostalgic, and decided to take the "shortcut" by the lake. Even if we were miles from town, out in the cornfields of Indiana, he would try to convince us that it would take a shorter amount of time to swing by Lake Michigan and take a peek at the lighthouse than to just take the direct route home.
It was on these drives that he would recount the stories of running on the shores when he was a kid, cutting open his foot on broken glass, or almost drowning at the mercy of riptides. I knew the stories. So did my brothers. We lipsynced to the memories like it was his Top Gun cassette tape. And it didn't matter how many times I sighed, or rolled my eyes, or tried to be the voice of reason in the mobile prison... dad kept right on talking, using his shortcut as a medium.
It was years later that my dad joked about the two or three years of my life when the household phone was "glued" to the side of my head, or all the nights I locked myself in my room with a book instead of hanging out with my family. "I missed you then," he said.
I remembered that conversation just last week as I was tapping my brakes on Highway 4, just trying to get to work less than a half hour late. I rubbed my belly, and thought of my own little one inside. I thought how lucky I was to have my child with me -- all the time. To know that when I decided to go grocery shopping, he or she was going to come to. When I was researching old articles, or answering my phone at my desk, or getting the daily paper ready to be microfilmed, my baby was there too. There were no car seats, or diaper bags, or emergency phone numbers I needed to carry with me (just the ones for really good chinese food -- hey, the baby likes garlic chicken).
And I realized after my angel is born, those days will be over. Sure, at first the baby will have to go everywhere with me just because he or she can't protest. But what about the days that I have to leave him or her with a friend or (gulp) a sitter because I have to go to work? And I don't even want to think about the days when school, and swimming lessons, and sleepovers start. What about when a high school sweetheart enters the picture and he or she would rather spend weekends over at that person's house than with boring old mom?
It made me view those long rides home so many years ago in a different light. My dad wasn't trying to make us miserable. He was trying to steal a few extra minutes in the lives of his increasingly busy children for himself. A few moments when it was just him, and us, and the sound of waves crashing on his favorite stretch of beach -- miles away from phones ringing, televisions blaring and bedroom doors being shut.
It made me thankful to have my own child just under my skin, and to have a dad who cared that much.
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