Riding with Pop

We called our grandfather Pop. Mom called him Pop too. For some reason, "Grandpa" never took. He got called Pop once so he stayed Pop forever. Maybe it was because the name fit. Pop was Pop. He was big. He had those ham like hands that factory workers had. He had broad shoulders. This was the physique of a man who could build a country. This was the physique of the men on whom this country was built.

My best memory of Pop came when I was eight. I was scared of him until then. Maybe I was always a little scared of him, but, up until that time, I didn't know anything about him. Once I got a peak behind the curtain, once I saw a little bit of his soul, he stopped being so scary. Not entirely unscary but at least a little less so.

We were visiting our Dad. Pop and Dad stayed friends even if Mom and Dad weren't. Dad liked Pop even if he was old. I think he saw a toughness in him that all men should have. Pop liked Dad even if he was a wise-ass. I think Pop might have envied Dad's education and maybe some of his brashness too.

Dad left Mom when I was three. He went to California because I figure that's where the continent ran out of road. They were careful to make sure my brother and I knew they both loved us. We knew they didn't love each other and that hurt anyway. Our Granparents were in on the game. They made sure they told us how much both Mom and Dad loved us. Part of the play was that each set of Grandparents spent time at each of our parent's houses. My Dad made out on that bet. He got to hang with Pop. Alcohol was involved.

Pop could put it way like ten men. Well, that's an exaggeration. Let's just say there was no amount of Piels, Schmidt or Rheingold that this man could not love. Writing this, I wonder if the whole family thing wasn't just a front for some kind of smuggling operation. You see, Pop would load up his car with cases of east cost crappy beer for every annual trek to his former son-in-law's. He came back with nothing but empties.

Pop drove a green Ford Galaxy. Galaxy was the most appropriate car name in the history of Detroit. Any bigger and they would have had to name it the Universe. Some people think I have acne scars. I don't. Those are indents from the Galaxy's tapestry seats. You sleep ten hours face down on those things and show me what your face looks like when you wake up. My brother and I both would pass out in the back seat with the windows down as Pop did eighty barrel-assing through the highways and byways of our great continent.

We lived and went to school in Connecticut so we spent summers in California. It must have been July the way I remember it. I was hanging around Dad's living room. Doing nothing but probably looking guilty in Pop's eyes. Pop was nervous. He was bored. This is a guy who fought a World War and worked double shifts for fifteen years. Sitting around California with nothing to do didn't sit right with him. Especially if he was sitting around sober.

Grandma must have said something. Something as dainty and feminine as only she could say, "For God's Sake, you old FART, what is wrong with you! Sit down!" Pop probably smiled. My Dad might have asked "What's the matter Pop?" Pop said something like "I've got to go. I've got to see California."

Thinking back, I remember Grandma was always suspicious of Pop's drinking. I'm sure she was the one who said something like "You're not going alone. If you go anywhere, you've got to take a kid with you".

Pop scanned the room. Cartoons might have been on the television. My brother was busy doing something. I looked guilty or innocent or something. Pop picked me, "You, come on. We're going for a ride".

I vividly remember being scared shitless. Why me? What could this giant, this titan, this tower of steel possibly want with a small, useless piece of flesh like me?

There was probably a quick packing of a bag because later in the story I remember wearing pajamas however, no sooner did Pop say "Come on, we're going for a ride" then I was in the passenger seat of the Galaxy.

This was the seventies. We didn't wear seat belts. Kids rode in the front seat. Heck, I remember shifting the Galaxy for Pop. It had three on the tree.

 I didn't know I was supposed to be spying on Pop. I was looking out for myself. Its what kids do. How could Grandma possibly have expected me to report back on that man? Well, as luck would have it I don't remember him taking a single drink on that trip. We were gone for three days. We stopped, of course, but never at a roadhouse or a bar. Always at a truck stop or a some kind of restaurant. I remember clam strips at HoJo's and banana cream pie at a truck stop that was as big as a town. We slept in the Galaxy. Pop in the front seat, me in the back. Both of us under the desert sky. He made sure I changed into my PJ's before nodding off.

I remember driving through the Mojave desert in the green Ford Galaxy with the windows down. It was hot. There were cactii on both sides of the road. The dirt was red. The car was fast. The sky was blue. Pop smiled. First at the road. And then at me. And then back at the road. And I understood why it was important to see California.

And I still understand it to this day.

When we got back to Dad's, I didn't have anything to say. Grandma wanted to know what happened. All I could do was smile and say it was fun.

Pop laid back in a lawn chair and took a nap. My Dad smiled too but I smiled bigger.