Not Just a Father, But a Friend

Not Just a Father, But a Friend

My horrible day was over. I raced down the hall fighting against the crowd so I could get out of this stupid place as fast as possible. I wanted out of this stupid school, for good. I complained to my parents on a regular basis my desire to switch schools, but it was just simply not an option. They wanted a “better education rooted in religion” for me. I wanted to go one day without being teased.
Even though I had a crappy day at school, my mood instantly changed when I got outside. The weather was perfect: fall, my favorite season. I still love the way the leaves change color; a plethora of reds, oranges and yellows. The crunching sound they make under feet, and when the crisp wind blows that warm pallet into swirls that form mini tornadoes. Fall marks a coming to an end, of sorts, and the promise of a new beginning is once again near.
I inhaled a deep breath of cool air as I looked around. I was standing by a crossing guard, one year younger than me, who was pushing his sense of authority off on those around him. When he tried to scold me about standing to closely to the road, I gave him a look–“Been there, done that, kid. Back off.”   He left me alone, and again went back to reprimanding the kids smaller than he. I was waiting. Any minute now the Mazda pickup, extended cab, waiting in line would pull up right in front of me. It was red, where there wasn’t rust, and my father looked funny driving it because he was a significantly big guy for such a small truck. He would drive it until it literally fell apart, just like he did with the white Isuzu pickup and the Red Chevy, aka “the beast”, before that.
I remember little of the Chevy, since I was so young when he had it. But, what I do remember was that he had a piece of cardboard stuck in a plastic grocery bag duct taped to the floor under the driver’s pedals to cover a growing whole.   I teased him all the time, “Well, if the brakes go out, you can just punch through the cardboard with...