Birthday Memories

Today would have been my dad's 95th birthday. He has been gone since 1993, but lives on for those of us who knew him. He was a great father, but not a typical one. He was a man who lived by his own rules, and I think he expected the same of his children. Most of the time when I think of him, either cars or trucks come into the picture. He dropped out of school and worked as a truck driver around the country. He loved racing, and I think he was happiest when he was at a track. I went to my first stock car race when I was two weeks old. I was in a basket in the stands. I'm sure that Mom insisted we go, because the week before, he had brought us home from the hospital, bought her a pint of ice cream, and then he went to the races. Oh, and it was her birthday. He was a great dad, but I'm not really sure how he rated as a husband.

My parents moved to Texas twice in my first two years. I spent a lot of time with an aunt and uncle of my mother's because they both worked miles away. It's strange for me to think of my formative years being with family I don't ever remember meeting. Mom hated Texas. Dad loved it. 

Finally, she talked him into moving back to Iowa, and they bought a house when I was three. She needed stability while he thrived on adventure. When I was about four he was in a serious accident. During a race, he flipped his car six times. I was at the concession stand, buying cotton candy, and when I came back they were on the way to the hospital. She made him promise to quit driving. I think he could have just as easily promised to quit breathing. He kept it up, just using another name.

He used to have a truck route for a Des Moines dairy, and took me around to collect the milk cans from Iowa farms. During our long drives together, we would play "count the windmills," and "name the license plates."  I learned all about Dizzy Dean, his favorite baseball player. Dizzy didn't like to follow the rules either. We listened to country music, and Mario Lanzo.  He wasn't a religious man, but loved to listen to old time hymns.

He had a very strong sense of justice. Once, I took a pack of gum from a store. Probaby Juicy Fruit. When I showed him my treasure, he turned the car around immediatly, and marched me back into the store to confess. That ended my life of crime.  He was very big on sharing what you have with others, and passed that on to us. He liked to tell us about airplanes that he and his brother got for Christmas one year. A neighbor child hadn't gotten any Christmas toys. His mother made him give his away, and share his brother's plane. He wasn't happy about it, but knew it was the right thing to do. Dad always had a story with a lesson. I think they were true. At least most of them.

I was an only child for five years. By the time I was fifteen, I was older sister and babysitter to four siblings. He wasn't conventional. He was never like any of the other fathers I knew. We were the only family I knew with a giant milk dispenser in our kitchen, and regulation school playground equipment in our back yeard. The things he brought home for us to play on were considered too dangerous for our friends. For many years he sold cars and trucks, and once I learned to drive, I never knew what I would be driving to school. My most embarrassing was the car with "Joey Chitwood, Stunt Driver" painted on the side. There are so many stories, now that I am remembering. When he was Race Promoter, he managed to get the governor to be the flag man at one of the races. For my dad, nothing was ever impossible. Happy Birthday, Lefty. I miss you