This Father's Way

It had been nearly a week since I set the barbecue on fire on Father's Day, and now we were walking alongside the River Thames in London, awake for nearly 24 hours since we left home.

And the first thing the kids wanted to see in London? The Shrek Experience.

Don't worry, they did make a list of all the other traditional things folks want to do in London prior to us going. And we did shout in jet-lagged glee when we saw Big Ben across the Thames. 

But about that barbecue fire the week before on Father's Day. Every time I barbecue, I crank up the propane afterwards for a few minutes to burn off the grill and then scrape it. I knew the bottom of the barbecue was due for cleaning, but I thought I could do one more grilling before I did it. As the grill was "burning off," I looked outside the kitchen window and noticed a whole lot of black smoke billowing from the back vents. And flames. Lots and lots of flames. I ran outside, looked at the barbecue, and then called out to my wife Amy. 

"Amy, can you bring me a cup of water?"

She could also see the smoke and flames and told me later she had thought to herself, He wants me to bring him a cup of water for that?

I then realized I had the garden house right there in front of me. I turned off the propane and doused the flames through the vents. I did not open the barbecue lid until the flames were out. Thankfully no one was hurt and nothing was damaged. Our kids asked, "Dad, how did you do that?" 

Quite easily, I thought without answering out loud.

Earlier that same day I was finishing painting Beatrice's new bedroom we're renovating. I had turned the ceiling fan on earlier to help dry the earlier coat of paint, but I didn't turn it off when I got on the ladder to paint the upper wall and -- smack! -- the fan blades whacked the back of my head. Fortunately, there was no major trauma or blood.

And even earlier that same day, again all on Father's Day, we were putting the cover back on our RV, and as I reached down to toss Amy one of the restraining ties, I gouged my hand directly in a sensitive spot that bled and bled. That's something I do all the time, with most of the time not even knowing how or when I made myself bleed on my hands, my arms, and/or my legs. Amy and the girls always say, "Dad, you're bleeding again. How do you do that?"

"It's not about how, girls. It's about when and how bad each time." 

These father fails aren't exactly related to our now family vacation, but in a way, they are. This father's way -- my way, that is. Being a father of two amazing human teens, two daughters, has been an extraordinarily fulfilling journey for the 14 years since our oldest Beatrice was born and the 12 years since our youngest Bryce was born. I'm grateful that they see all my successes as well as my usually self-deprecated day-to-day failures, like setting the barbecue on fire, or gouging my hands or arms unknowingly doing supposedly simple chores. And I'm so grateful that we can take them on jam-packed vacation journeys, even if the first thing they want to see in London is the Shrek Experience. Sigh. 

This father's way makes for a loving end to every day. 

Our Only Cat Thing

Her name was Cleo. Short for Cleopatra. A cross-eyed Siamese cat we had was I was a child that would sprint across our front yard, her back legs pumping faster than her front, which would then rotate her back end to her front end 180 degrees causing her to literally flip over and tumble multiple times to an abrupt stop. She'd look stunned, meow, and then do it all over again. 

She was also a loving cat. Until she wasn't. Not unusual for cats, Cleo would lay on my stomach while I laid on the bed or the couch, purring contentedly while I petted her. After a few minutes I hear her low growl growing inside her and she'd tense up. That's when I knew she was going to pounce on my head, and if I didn't push her off me or cover my head with something, I was a goner. 

Pounce!

Decades later, the last cats that my wife Amy and I had were her cats she had before we met, a sister and a brother named Chelsea and Charlie, and I had a dog named Joshua. Her cats did not like my dog, but they all tolerated each other. Chelsea was a beautiful Calico, and after our daughters came, first Beatrice then Bryce, only Chelsea was still alive. Bryce was only a baby and Beatrice was two. Beatrice would toddle behind Chelsea, pull on her tail, and call out "Kitty!" Chelsea didn't want any of that and she'd take a swipe at Bea. Chelsea lived to be 21 years old, too. Mercy me that's old for a cat.

Then there was my mother-in-law's cat, Sweetie. They lived with us for a few years when our girls were little. Sweetie was skittish gray ghost cat that would vanish before you even entered the room. She also took swipes at Beatrice, one time connecting and leaving a big scratch on her arm. That deterred her a little bit from pursuing Sweetie, but never fully stopped her. 

So, what's with all this cat talk today? Especially on Father's Day? Well, it's because our girls now want a cat, especially Bryce, and that's never going to happen in a million years. At least, until in a million years when the girls have places of their own. 

Why? Because cats are like humans; they're extremely unpredictable. When they're indoor cats they use cat boxes that constantly stink. When they're outdoor cats they leave dead things on your porch like Biblical sacrifices. They hack up hair balls. They scratch everything. They knock everything over. They howl and hiss and run around in the middle of the night. One minute they're loving you, and then next, pouncing on your head and biting your ears and nose.

I'm sure there are many cat owners that would challenge my current distaste for cats. Blessings to you all. Amy and I are really more dog people, and while dogs can be just as bad as unpredictable cats, they're still more like docile children compared to the bizarre, unpredictable world of adult-like cats. 

So, sorry kids, no cats. Instead, my girls and I watch cat videos together with our dog Jenny by our side (not caring about the cats). Funny cat videos of cats running around like banshees. Of cats knocking things off of high shelves. Of cats getting startled and jumping five feet into the air and off of counters. Of cats pouncing on each other and/or other humans suddenly. Of cats making alien sounds after smelling food they don't like. Of cats hacking up hair balls the size of oranges. Of cats laying around and watching TV. Of cats being dressed up in funny clothes and sunglasses and made to dance. 

Each night before bed now we watch funny cat videos until we laugh so hard we cry. It's our cat thing. Our only cat thing. So funny!

Nope, don't look at me like that, kids. No cats!

When You're On Your Own

At the very moment we had to pull over on the side of the highway because I thought we blew out a tire, our kids were on their own downtown eating a yummy meal together.

It wasn't the first time they've been on their own like this. And unfortunately it wasn't the first time recently we had car trouble. 

But there we were. My wife Amy and I had dropped our daughters off downtown, soon to be 13 and 15 years old. They were going to go shopping and get something to eat (a late lunch or early dinner -- we were all not sure whether to call it linner or dunch -- I preferred dunch), and then take the bus back home. Our oldest Beatrice had already done the bus experiment and it worked out well. Both her and her sister Bryce were doing it for the first time together now. Of course we reviewed our Kidpower safety plans with them -- make sure to get on the right bus, move away from any danger if needed, get adult help if needed -- so we felt confident they'd be fine. 

We were driving to San Francisco to pick up a new used car and then come right back home again. The whole time Amy texted back and forth with our kids. Everything went great for all of us. That is, until I heard what sounded like something dragging and then air whooshing out of a tire. That's not what it was, although we did find a screw in the right front tire. The tire wasn't going flat, but we knew we had to get it fixed before going all the way to San Francisco and back. We still hadn't pinpointed the dragging sound. Shit, not again. f

This was the point where Beatrice became stressed thinking her and Bryce wouldn't have enough money for the meal they ordered. They have their own accounts and Bea has an ATM card now and Amy even gave them a little extra money for the afternoon. Bea texted back and forth with Amy about paying for the meal while we got off the highway to find a tire place. 

Soon after that, a man in a delivery van drove up next to us, honked, and pointed at the front of our car. I thought the tire was definitely going flat now. We pulled into a church parking lot and stopped, but the tire was still fully inflated. The man in the van doubled back and pulled into the lot with us. He showed us that the front protective panel under the car had broken loose and was dragging on the ground. I can't believe we didn't see that at first. He was kind enough to tape it up temporarily so it wouldn't drag anymore. 

Poor Beatrice was still stressed about the money for the meal, texting back and forth with Amy, and continually asking the restaurant staff about how much everything costs. Amy assured her we would help out if they ran into any issues. Bea texted a picture of her meal, though, and it certainly looked yummy. All Bryce cared about was eating it.

By then we'd already stopped at one tire place that couldn't help us, and then found another one that could. A small independent gas station mechanic who gave us amazing customer service. They even gave us two chairs to sit on in the garage bay and two cold waters to drink while we waited. They fixed the tire and the panel under the car and we were on our way again in less than 30 minutes. 

At this point the girls were wrapping up their meal and Amy helped Beatrice figure out the tip. They had more than enough money and Bea was thankful. Bryce was just thankful again for a yummy meal. Plus, the restaurant staff were very polite and helpful. The girls then did a little more shopping and took the bus home, which let out right across the street from where we live.

Later on when we were all home together again, I was thankful that our kids are learning to be safely independent by hanging out downtown and riding the bus home. And that we as the adults and parents can manage stress of when things go wrong (with our car, for example, yet again), because they will. But going wrong doesn't mean it can't be made right. That's the thing when you're on your own, you don't always have to do it all by yourself; parents, friends, family, and even strangers can help. Good people always willing to lend a hand. 

Endless Possibilities Actually

"Dad, those people are pointing at our car."

A car passed us and I could see some kids pointing at us. Right after our oldest Beatrice said that, a trucker passed us and honked. Then I saw the smoke. White smoke that billowed out from the front of our Santa Fe Hyundai. 

"Shit," I said. "We've got to pull over." I aways cuss a lot when I'm stressed out. 

It was Memorial Day weekend and we were less than two miles from our final exit and less than four miles from our final destination at the KOA campground in Visalia. My wife Amy and I had no idea what was wrong with our car, but I knew that we all needed to get out of it in case it caught fire. 

"Everybody get out of the car," I said, waving the family out. "Fuck," I then said under my breath. 

Once outside of the car, Amy said we should unhook our trailer camper in case there was a fire. Seconds passed that felt like hours. I called my sister, who we were going to see, and then I called for roadside assistance. Cars and trucks blurred past us on the highway. We told our kids to stay away from the highway and hold our dog Jenny. 

Twenty minutes later, as we waited to hear back about the roadside assistance, the white smoke finally subsided. Thankfully there was no car fire. We had put our dog back in the car so she wouldn't get more stressed and try to get away. 

"We have to get to the campsite," Amy said. I agreed and knew it would be a risk to drive again, but that's what we did. I started the Hyundai, pushed the flashing hazard lights button, waited for an opening in the highway, and pulled out. I drove white-knuckled all the way to the campground. We made it there without anymore white smoke, but the engine light did come on. Two weeks before all this we had just had the car serviced. Nothing was wrong then, although they did overfill our oil and not tighten our oil filter all the way, which was something we had to deal with before this trip. We didn't realize then how much foreshadowing that was. 

Of course it was Memorial Day weekend, so by the time we got to the campground, the Hyundai Dealer in town was already closed. We set up camp and my sister came and got us and took us back to her house for dinner. After that, she let us use one of her cars, which was actually my parents car before they had both passed away.

The next day a dear old high school friend who was a mechanic came out to take a look at my car and verified that transmission fluid was leaking from the car and that's what had sprayed onto the engine and smoked. We took our Santa Fe to a local lube and oil place and they ran a diagnostic that confirmed why the engine light went on: the might be an issue with the torque converter in the automatic transmission. And yes, the transmission fluid had leaked out. 

"Shit."

The service center at the Hyundai dealer in town wouldn't be open again until the Tuesday after Memorial Day, so we had to strategize on what to do next. The plan had always been to go home on Memorial Day Monday because we had to get back to work and our kids had appointments. But it was still only Sunday, and Amy and our daughters attended my niece's bridal shower while I hung out with Jenny and worked and wrote. After that, we hung out again at my sister's. 

We still had a nice visit overall, but the whole time I kept worrying about what was wrong with our car and what we were going to have to do about it. 

[More cussing in my head.]

But then my old friend had offered to tow our trailer camper back home and my sister offered to let us use the same car so Amy and our kids could get home. That's what we did on Memorial Day: my family made it home safely and I rode eight hours with my friend to drop off our trailer in Santa Cruz and return to Visalia. We were so grateful to my friend and my sister for all their help. 

What happened when I took our Santa Fe to the local dealer service the next day was completely anti-climatic to how the whole holiday weekend started. In the end, there was nothing wrong with our transmission or anything else. During our last car service back home just two weeks earlier, they had overfilled our transmission fluid by over two quarts. They had also overfilled our oil and not fully tightened the oil filter, which we already knew about. We'd been taking our car to that Hyundai dealer service for seven years and nothing like this had ever happened, until now. 

Two days after Amy and our girls went home, Amy drove my sister's care back to Visalia and we returned home in our car. The universe realigned.

When life goes sideways (in this case with car trouble), our first rule is always safety first for the family. Everything else is just time and money and transitory pains in the asses that will not always be recoverable, but because we're still here living and breathing, there's always the possibility of recovery. Endless possibilities actually. 

That's why the second rule is, we make the most of our moments, wherever they are and however they are. Stewing in uncertainty results in angst-filled inaction, which I'm certainly still guilty of, but endless possibilities make all the difference in the end. Reconnecting with an old friend and spending more time with my sister were moments I wouldn't have had otherwise. Again, we're so grateful for their help.