Growing Up on the Road Less Traveled
July 2, 2009
This is me, on my first day of school in Costa Rica. It was 1980 and I was being driven to school in a 1947 Chevy… because my dad lived on the road less traveled. You may recall from his South American Duck Adventures, he didn’t settle for “the norm”; he was determined to chart his own course. I cannot tell you how much that drove me nuts.
That Stupid Car
Some of my earliest and most distinct memories involve this car. I was a kid, so I didn’t understand (or care) that it was a classic. All I knew was… my friends were going to school in modern cars, and I wanted to be just like them. I often asked to be dropped off a block away from school and walked the rest of the way, so that no one would see “that stupid car”. As we got close to the school, I would duck down into the floorboards, to avoid being recognized through the window! Man, I hated “that stupid car”.
But my dad loved it… he had a thing for classic cars… and airplanes… and motorcycles… and adventures. My dad had a thing for life. He wanted to pack as much as possible into every minute of his existence. He worked hard, not just to pay the bills, but to finance his dreams. His philosophy was to enjoy the experiences that brought him endless joy and wonderful memories.
I recently told you, in my Costa Rican Sea Turtles post, that my mom and her friend would drive us out to our beach shack (because it’s not about luxury, remember?) on unpaved roads. That trip took no less than four hours, and we always arrived covered in about three inches of dust.
But not my dad.
If he got to go with us, he would FLY there in his V-Tail Bonanza. In fact, I’m fairly certain the only reason he bought that particular beach shack was because it was also on a grass landing strip. So he’d do the 10 minute flight from Pavas airport to Esterillos beach, then park his plane in the shade of two ginormous mango trees, and stay a couple of days before heading back to work.
Once in a while, I got to go with him in the plane. It made a lasting impression on me that the “traditional” path (because it really was NOT a road by any stretch of the imagination) to the beach was so incredibly awful, yet everyone went that way.
But going by air was quick and entirely delightful as we looked down on all those tiny cars starting their trek over El Monte del Aguacate (that’s the name of that god forsaken route from San Jose to the beach, inevitably behind trucks and buses with stinky tail pipes). Is it any wonder I followed in his footsteps, and took up flying?
I guess I didn’t realize it then, but my dad was steadily planting seeds in us kids. There were seeds of adventure, creativity, resourcefulness, individuality, and… what’s the name for that seed whose purpose is to help you become someone who KNOWS who they are and what they want, and doesn’t care what others think about it? Well, anyway…Â that seed. My dad was planting, and my mom was cultivating, and here we are today.
But, where’s the ’47 Chevy?
Would you believe my dad kept it all these years? After his accident, when things turned downhill quickly in the aftermath of a manic episode, he neglected the Chevy a good bit. But my brother has it now, sitting in retirement on his property… waiting for the day when it will proudly grace the streets of San Jose again. If I win the lottery, or something like it, I would like to make amends with that Wonderful car, and restore it to its original glory. After all, this car took me for my first ride on the road less traveled.
Think about your childhood… did you grow up on the road less traveled? Can you get back to it? If you didn’t, wouldn’t you like to find it now?
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