Driving With Dad
Nancy Julien Kopp
©
Copyright 2012 by Nancy Julien Kopp
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During
my growing-up years, my dad drove a 1936 Plymouth, moved on to a 40’s
model Buick and then a 50’s era Chrysler that was his pride and
joy. Every one of those vehicles was a used car, but Dad burst with
pride over each one. He kept them washed and waxed, made sure the
engine hummed, and brushed and vacuumed the upholstered seats
regularly.
I
learned many life lessons during conversations in those cars, usually
when Dad and I drove somewhere without my mother and brothers. Both
of us sitting in the front seat of the car, we bumped along the brick
street in front of our apartment building, our words quaking as we
passed over each new brick the tires hit. Finally, we’d come to
a paved street, and our voices resounded normally again. An innocent
remark from me as we rode along brought forth long orations from Dad
on more than one occasion.
My
dad was a short, skinny guy, but his inner strength and street smarts
created a powerful person. He steered with one hand and gestured to
me with the other, citing one example after another to prove a point.
In
my childhood years, I considered his words as nothing but lectures.
Never content to say a little about a subject, he’d begin with
the important part of the lesson and continue on and on until I
effectively tuned him out. My own silent rebellion. I must have had a
mental file folder in which I saved those little lectures, for bits
and pieces float through my mind even now, nearly 70 years later.
They’ve helped to make me the strong person I am today.
Dad
grew up in the Depression years. He lost his father at the age of
fourteen and dropped out of high school to search for work. He
supported his mother and himself with one scrounged-up job after
another, finally settling in permanently at International Harvester
Co. when he turned eighteen. They hired him as a truck driver, and
Dad moved on through the ranks of the parts department in a
distribution center and finally to the General Office in downtown
Chicago where he worked with men who, unlike himself, held college
degrees. He supervised a department of men and women until his
retirement, and never was a man more loyal to an employer than he.
As
an adult, my dad’s words revisited me when I attended college,
taught school, married, and became a mother. One of the things we
often talked about in those old cars was loyalty. “Loyalty,”
Dad told me, “will reap benefits beyond your wildest
dreams.” He repeatedly instructed me and my brothers
to be loyal to our family, to our employer, and to our friends. Mixed
within the admonition to show loyalty was respect and integrity as
well as fidelity, subheadings for his favorite topic.
As
a child and especially in my teen years, I resented Dad’s
lectures and did my best to ignore them. In my young adult years, Dad
often grasped an opportunity to repeat those lectures. The same
stories, the same words, the same lesson, and I’d think ‘oh
no, not again.’ How many times could I listen to what
International Harvester Co. did for him? That his loyalty to them was
returned a thousand-fold over the years. And didn’t I already
know that his loyalty to his best friend resulted in a lifelong
friendship?
Dad
died over twenty-five years ago, but the lessons he taught through
words and example live on. The words I naively thought I had tuned
out so long ago come back to me at the strangest moments. When I see
examples of others’ loyalty, Dad’s words drift through my
mind, and I wish I might thank him now for what he taught me all
those years. I tried to be loyal to my employer, my family, and my
friends exactly as he’d said while we drove all around Chicago
in his treasured cars. And he was so right. I’ve reaped the
benefits in the form of good working relationships, a wonderful
family life, and the joy of many warm friendships.
He
didn’t have a college degree, but he knew the values to instill
in his children and he worked hard to ensure we learned the meaning
of loyalty. The little lectures in the car and sometimes at the
dining room table were re-enforced by the way he led his own life. I
listened and observed, quite often subconsciously, and applied what I
learned throughout my own life. Thanks a million, Dad.
Nancy
Julien Kopp is a Kansan, originally from Chicago but has lived in the
Flint Hills of Kansas for many years. She writes fiction, creative
nonfiction, memoir, inspirational, award winning children’s
fiction, poetry and articles on the writing craft. She’s
published in twenty-three Chicken Soup for the Soul books, other
anthologies, newspapers, ezines and internet radio. Her blog about
her writing world with tips and encouragement for writers
is www.writergrannysworld.blogspot.com
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