Yesterday we were driving in the car and I said something along the lines of “I was a daddy’s girl” while telling Barry a story. He stopped me short and made me correct myself. I admit it: I am a daddy’s girl.
In high school, my first car had died and I was in search of a new one. My parents had said that they’d match any amount that I could for my next vehicle. I’d probably saved a few hundred bucks from babysitting, so we weren’t looking for a super fancy set of wheels. I had said that I would NEVER drive a wood paneled anything, a van or anything ‘ugly’. I just wanted a basic car.
I came home one day to discover my dad with my new car parked in the driveway with the trunk open. It was a cute little Nissan Sentra sans wood paneling. It was also a screaming deal. My dad told me there was a leak in the trunk and he’d need a few days to air it out. I was thrilled to have a new car, so I waited for a couple days without a problem.
A few days later, we were all set to go. It was a great car and Lara named it The Electric because of the funny sound the engine made. It did, however have a funny smell to it. I always explained to people that it smelled musty because of the leak in the trunk.
When my dad wold ride in in my car with me he always casually asked about the smell and if it bothered me. It never did, since I was happy to have a car.
I ended up getting into a car accident with that car in the high school parking lot. Because we’d gotten such a good deal on it initially, when the insurance check came, we actually made money off it!
It wasn’t until years later that the truth came out about the smell in The Electric: Turns out my dad had been looking around at a car lot for me and noticed the Sentra off to the side. He inquired about it and the salesman told my dad that under no circumstances would he want that car. My dad pressed and asked more about the car, which had just come on the lot that morning.
Finally, the salesman told my dad that the car’s trunk was filled with manure with no liner. The manure was directly on the trunk bed and there was a ton of it. No protection against the manure, essentially.
My dad bought the car.
With the manure in it.
And didn’t tell me.
He shoveled the manure into the compost and started airing out the car before I came home from school.
I was recently telling this story to a friend and when I got to the end, she looked at me and said that was one of the sweetest stories she’d ever heard. I’d never thought of the story as sweet, but hearing her say that, I realized she was right. It’s the things that parents do for their kids, and sometimes it literally means you shovel shit for them.
I know Barry would do the same for either one of our girls and I’m thankful that I’ve got a dad that shovels for me daily, both literally and figuratively.
