Rides Revisited

I have a knack for picking up sports quickly. My Dad taught me to hit a baseball off a tee, and I was able to hit live pitches shortly thereafter. It took me longer to learn the value of a father’s love. For every mistake I’ve made, my Dad was there to pat me on the back three times. One look at my father gives me the inspiration to be a better person.
Dad and I took many rides throughout the years. We rode the subway to Yankees Stadium, the escalator to the upper deck of Giants Stadium, elevators, trains, boats and even go-karts. Some rides were soon forgotten, while others created lifetime memories.
My father and I share a fascination with Jets football and Dunkin’ Donuts coffee, so it was only natural to combine the two. My interest in Gang Green stems from the need to knock the organization for bad moves and continue to be baffled by their doomed franchise. Dad is a real Jets fan, so his fascination is warranted and backed by a sense of team spirit and pride. We used to take a car ride to Dunkin’ Donuts on winter weekends, and sit and talk about the team. There was always this Jeep in the parking lot and the owner would sit at the same table in the shop each time we went. We unoriginally called him “The Jeep Guy” and it was fun to associate our trips for coffee and muffins with this stranger.
My father was there as this fan was sent on an emotional ride with the Yankees in the late 90’s, but four letters symbolized our bond with the pinstripe:. T-I-N-O. The former first baseman inspired our family to name our new cat Tino, following the slugger’s clutch World Series homerun. Never have I seen my Dad love an animal more than he loved this adorable male kitten. Tino was truly a splendid, special cat to all of us. He adored and practically worshipped my father. We rescued Tino and nurtured him into a sweetheart but unfortunately our beloved pet is no longer with us. He became ill one Christmas and had to be hospitalized. Tino recovered from the sickness but one day, the gray-haired animal simply never came home. We think he was injured by another animal and went into the woods to die. No one was more heartbroken by the loss than my poor father.
I used to bury my father’s feet in the sand on trips to Ocean City, N.J. during family vacations. The surf was not up for my Dude Dad during one weird Wawa summer. I don’t exactly know how, but Dad got lost on his way home from the famous New Jersey convenient store and it took him forever to find his way back to our hotel. My sister, mother and I were worried we would never see the Fella’ in flip-flops again and I think we were waiting for him to bring us home some breakfast. Not only were we hungry, but we were horrified we’d have to hitchhike back home without our car. After the laughter, all ended well. My father returned with a bottle of Yoohoo to share with me. Dad was always an adventurous guest on vacations. His driving gave us some pretty uptight and intense car rides, especially when traveling in Canada. My father is so meticulous about mapping out all the routes before our trips. Yet, whenever we were actually in the car, he seemed clueless as to where we were going and in what direction to take. When it comes to directions, my Dad is either hit or miss.
The same feet I buried in the sand used to be the ones to take me on bike rides near our home. The rides were memorable for me because it was such a big deal to take my bike on the actual road. Dad would lead the way past railroad tracks and lines of cattails on side streets. It was special to follow his neon green bike in my smaller purple cycle.
It was a hot, dry day in Mahwah, New Jersey. The A&P Tennis Classic had not yet begun but I already had to go to the bathroom. There were portable restrooms set aside near the professional practice courts and I figured it would be smart to go before the match began. Anna Kournakova was the premier name on the day’s slate. She was playing in the final of the annual event and I had a magazine with her picture on the cover in case I crossed her path. I handed the magazine to Dad while I headed to the ladies’ room after downing my second cup of juice from one of the never-ending free samples tables. After my very quick bathroom break, my not-so-observant father remarked how Anna herself just walked by. I looked out at the practice court and saw the former number one player warming up with her coach. I questioned why my father did not even attempt an autograph. He seemed stupefied and wondered why himself. I guess you could say he was star-crossed but I was as steamed as the French onion soup my Dad likes so much.
Amusement park rides were never big in our family, but we were occasionally drawn to them on vacations. Dad and I used to fly high on the hot air balloon ride in Ocean City, and the Merry-go-round and Monorail were definitely on the agenda each summer. One year, Dad encouraged me to try the Scrambler. These friendly-enough looking teacups couldn’t be that bad I figured. So, we surrendered two tickets and bolted ourselves into the round saucer as the ride began. I felt a rush of dizziness come over me and told Dad I was about to throw up. I think I made it through the ride, barely. I will never go on a Scrambler ride again. Riding with Dad is usually a good thing. This time it was more than I could handle and I think Dad would agree.
My Dad would take me on rides to West Point three to four times a year for Army hockey games. It was so special to share a sporting event with my father. It didn’t matter that the players were virtually unknown and the sport was one I never actually played. Dad made it fun by allowing me to bring a few friends and he would buy souvenirs and ice cream for us. He even snagged front row seats so we got to see the action up close.
I sometimes have to ride out the storm with my Dad. I love the guy, but there are times when we argue or fight. I am other father-daughter relationships aren’t always smooth either. There were rough patches in my relationship with Dad growing up but we both understand each other so well it’s hard to hold grudges. He always forgave me and I always went back to him during the toughest moments of my life. If not for him, I know I wouldn’t be as strong as I am. In fact, I’ve drawn my strength in sports and in life from his acknowledgements and belief in me. On this Father’s Day 2009, I’d like to thank Dad for all the rides we’ve shared. I know he will be there when the next journey comes along, and he might even be involved again. I have a framed screen picture of us taken from the photo booth in Ocean City. We are both smiling with our heads close together. He is wearing a blue-collared shirt and I am in a pink Tshirt. The photo hangs right next to my door in my apartment so that every time I leave home, it’s the last image I see.

Parting points: Happy First Day of Summer!
Song of the day- “Never Ending Summer” by 311