Driving with Dad
I am not usually someone to point out the obvious, but there are times where necessity overrides my nature. Driving is one of the great pleasures of the modern age. Nothing compares to the liberation and joy we feel behind the wheel of our very own dream machine. We may not realise it, but driving gives us all a surge of confidence. We have the control. We have the power. We own the road.
…well I thought I did. When I am behind the wheel, I am the Lord of my machine. Until of course, the form that materialises in the passenger seat is that of my dad.
It would only now seem fair that I provide some context to this seemingly confusing statement. At the end of the day, this is either a problem suffered by us all, or it may just be me living in my own world of eccentric dazzlement. First, it is time to take a holiday into the dark depths of the past.
When I was a young lad, my father defined what life was for me. As with any child, he was my dad, friend, hero, you know, all that classic cheesy stuff. One of the most important things however was the fact that he was my ticket to the rest of the world. Wherever I needed to go, he was my ride. He was my taxi driver, my fountain of driving knowledge, and of course my ride home. As much as I have always been an independent little so and so, there were times when a bus just would not cut it.
When the ripe old age of 17 came and slapped me in my confused little face, the time had come for me to learn to drive. But that is another story. A year later I had my own license and very quickly, my own car. And with that, my dad’s services were no longer needed. It was at this time that everything began to change. A deep grumble in the very fabric of my family. A power shift turned everything I once knew on its head.
The worst part was how it crept up on me. My innocence shattered forever. Suddenly he asked me for a lift. Everything I once knew had changed forever.
The only way I can attempt to explain just how terrifying this felt is by means of a comparison. Let us just take a second. Imagine if you will your ultimate music hero. Whether it is your Beatles, your Queen or your Rolling Stones does not matter. But imagine if you will performing for them. The very thought of that sends a pang of terror to my bones. And driving my dad absolutely anywhere is that exact same feeling.
I would like to think that 99.9% of the time that I am actually a very good driver. But as soon as my dad sits down next to me in my car, I turn into a pile of brain dead bone and tissue. There was one time where I literally forgot how to drive for a good few minutes. How he did not notice I will never quite know. But for that I am massively grateful.
…yet here I am writing this very blog with the full knowledge that he will get to reading this. I really did not think this through at all now did I?
I really wish I could explain it. But there is something about driving a man who I respect so much that does bring the nerves in the truck load. I have been having to do this now for around 4 years and even now I still struggle to keep my cool. There are times when my dad does actually compliment my driving, but even so I still feel that he is just being nice.
I really hope that it is not just me who has these feelings. Where better to share my thoughts than somewhere as great as Private Fleet.
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Keep Driving People!
Peace and Love!
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