Saturday, April 28, 2018

Father's Day Past


In a few months Father's Day will be upon us again.

Please don't mention this to Husband, as he will begin to whine, as he always does, about what "I did to him" on Father's Day long, long ago.

When Daughter was four or five years old (she is now  pushing 28) I suggested we go for a nice drive that Sunday afternoon. You know, just the 3 of us, our sweet family, on Father's Day. To sort of celebrate.

At that time, our road was a one lane, sandy trail more than anything. Recently "they" had come in, widening the road to a great extent right after they cut down timber.

This did not bode well for our wonderful living on this mountain all by ourselves life.

Anyway, I cheerfully suggested we ride out that road as it now went beyond our house, and see just how far they had graded and made a wide road.

We had a sturdy, 4 wheel drive Blazer that had only been stopped once, and that's when the blizzard hit. It snowed up over the bumpers and then froze it in place, rendering the poor Blazer immobile for several days.

So we strapped Daughter into her booster seat in the back, got in and took off. 

Wow.

We were amazed at how far they had graded. It looked like it went on for several miles. But as we went further in, it got muddy, so we decided, after sliding down a hill despite 4 wheel drive, that we better turn around and head for home.

Carefully turning the Blazer around, we headed back up the hill. 

(You know this isn't going to end well, don't  you?)

Even in 4 wheel drive, it just couldn't get up that slippery, muddy hill. So Husband gunned it. And we sunk up to the axle in mud.

He got out and surveyed the situation. "Okay, I'm going to find some wood and large rocks to make braces under the tires so they can get some traction."

This took a while.

"Now, I want you to gently give it some gas as I push."

Um, okay...

Did I mention it was a straight shift?

He began to push. "Give it gas!"

I did.

"More!"

I did.

The Blazer moved. Well, the tires moved. They spun like crazy. 

"Stop!"

Husband (or I think it was Husband) came to driver's door. I burst out laughing, as did our baby child in the back seat.

Husband was not laughing.

But there were those two big old baby blue eyes staring at me from a face totally encased in good old Georgia red clay.

We finally made it back home. I got the garden hose and washed Husband off. Thankfully, no one drove by to see where the new road led while he was in the front yard taking a cold shower. 

All but his undies were lost causes, we bagged them up and tossed 'em, because no matter what, that red clay wasn't going to disappear.

My suggestion is to avoid Husband at all costs on Father's Day. Or at least don't ask him about how his Father's Day is going. 'Cause I guarantee you, he'll start in.

Some people just can't let the past go,  you know what I mean?

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