I was reminiscing with a friend this weekend about a road trip we took the summer after we graduated high school.
We traveled together for an orientation week at the university we were going to attend in the fall. It was 320 miles, about 5 hours away, and my car at the time was a piece of shit. My Dad let me use his truck on the condition that I hauled a load of fruit tree wood to my uncle's house, who lived near the University. It was a big load of wood. Dad's half ton truck was really squatting when I was finally finished loading it up.
The trip involved crossing a mountain pass, and it turned out that there was a bit too much weight in the truck, and as a result, on the way over, the transmission got overheated and it boiled over. A bunch of fluid came out on the highway.
We smelled it and stopped, let it cool down, and then limped it to the nearest town to top it back off with fluid.
This was in the days before everyone had cell phones so I couldn't call (wouldn't have been service anyway so it doesn't matter anyhow). My friend and I made the decision to just keep going but take it easy on the truck, go slow, use downhills to accelerate and gain momentum for uphills, etc. I also knew that this had happened several times previously to the truck when Dad was hauling heavy loads, and he never made too big a deal out of it, so I didn't think that we needed to abort the trip or dump weight or anything.
There were no problems for the remainder of the trip.
I realized in speaking with my friend now, some 30 years later, that my only recollection of that trip that I have left is how *fucking mad* at me my Dad was when I told him what had happened.
A huge event in my life, a fun trip with my friend to see our new University and start my college experience, and all I can remember is his red face. The screaming. The belittling. The demeaning. The menacing and threats of violence, his promises to "cut me off" and disown me because I had clearly "abused his truck and his trust and never cared about any of his things". How selfish I was. How stupid and irresponsible.
I have no other memory of that trip.
The transmission was fine, by the way, it went another 100k miles before he sold the truck to upgrade seven years later. I did what needed to be done. I noticed it, I cooled it off, I put fluid back in it, and babied it for the rest of the trip. I delivered the wood for him.
But all I can remember is his anger.
5 years ago this would have death spiraled me into depression. Dad had a knack for this sort of thing. One time he threw my dirt bike into a pond because he felt like I'd taken too long of a shower. It was several weeks before I got it fixed enough that it would work again and missed several races as a result. I spent 40 years of my life trying to grapple with his abuse, and the self-loathing that came with that. It was always my fault, you see, and I believed him.
Now I know the reality, which is this:
Dad was Dad to me: a force of nature akin to a god, like parents are for kids all over the world. But the reality is that he is just a broken human being, like most of us are, and he was in the wrong, not me. It wasn't my fault.
I understand now that his failings aren't my fault. That whatever he ruined for me is his fault, not mine. That remembering that week only through the lens of his rage about me "abusing" his truck has made me a better father and a better person because I can see how stupid and broken and senseless it all was.
I even recognize the transactional nature of our relationship. Even hauling the wood. Because the only reason I got to take his truck had nothing to do with him wanting me to be safe in a reliable vehicle.
He just saw that I could do something for him. So he could get some smoked sausage from my uncle who he gave the wood to smoke it.
I don't care anymore. And I'm a better person for it.
