Some of my earliest memories are those of my father. He was a tall big man. A deep booming voice. A bit of a temper. And the greatest storyteller I’ve ever had the pleasure of listening to. Whether it was over dinner, a game of golf or a party, he could weave a tale like no other. He lived a life that I could never imagine and could tell the details of every moment as if you were there experiencing it with him. He was the life of the party and I envied his ability to hold court with a group as he spoke of some crazy adventure.

Shortly after I graduated high school he had to take early retirement from Frito-Lay. My dad had health related issues that would prevent him from ever returning to work. He was 46 or 47 at the time. He suffered several mini-strokes that had a devastating impact on his motor skills. You have to understand, as I didn’t at the time, this destroyed him. Not interacting with his co-workers and friends. Not being able to be himself anymore. At the time I despised my father’s condition. I hated that he couldn’t be “dad” anymore. His memory was getting bad and his rational thinking skills were fading quickly. I was so pissed that this was happening and I began to resent him for not taking care of himself sooner.

As the years wore on his body deteriorated but he didn’t let that stop him from living as good a life as he could. Doctors orders were that he could no longer drive a vehicle. This drove him absolutely crazy! He loved to just drive around and take in the world. This situation of being confined to the house while I went off to school and my mom off to work just wasn’t going to work for him.

Over the course of a few months I would wake up for school to discover that my car was no longer in the driveway. My keys were gone so it hadn’t been stolen. Nope, dad took it for a joyride. Sometimes he’d be back before I needed to leave for school, other days he’d be gone for hours leaving me stranded and missing another day of school. It was bad all the way around. Mom was terrified that he was going to kill himself or someone else. I was freaking because I was paying a lot of money for the tech college with all the dorks. Something had to change and quick.

I don’t recall exactly how we came to own “the Rascal.” A Rascal is a brand of 4-wheel scooter that disabled or folks that can’t walk long distances use to get around outside of the house. My dad’s Rascal was awesome, awesomely awful. He had a long thin pole installed on the rear of the Rascal and at the top was a bright orange triangular flag. I guess it was for safety reasons, but as a young man I saw it as an embarrassment. I mean, how are you going to miss seeing this enormous man on a scooter?

The Rascal became somewhat of a novelty. I’d receive calls from friends saying, “hey man, I saw your dad over by the movie theatre.” I’d also hear from the neighbors who’d say, “hey man, can you keep your dad off my lawn!? He cuts through our lawn and is leaving a trail of dead grass.” I didn’t realize at the time, but this was life for him. It was freedom to go anywhere. Do anything. See the world again. He was having the time of his life. I bet it made him feel normal again. Damn, I can only imagine what he was feeling.

Every day before leaving for school I would check on dad. Most days he was up early and watching something on TV. He was usually shirtless with shorts and socks on. It was quite a site. One morning I stroll downstairs and the house is silent. I go down into the basement to my folks bedroom to find the bed made and no dad. Calling out and not receiving any answer I make my way to the garage. The garage door is wide open and the Rascal is gone. This wasn’t abnormal really. Usually he would check-in before leaving to give me a heads up of where he was heading, but not today. Like I said, his rational skills were deteriorating.

I elected not to go to school until he came home. We lived in AZ and this was the middle of the summer. Temperatures this time of year reach 115 degrees. Dad being out in this heat on a Rascal was no bueno. I’m sure he didn’t leave with water, hell he may not have left with pants on.

A couple of hours go by and still no word from dad. I was beginning to get worried. This was before mobile phones, so I couldn’t just call him. He may not have money with him for a pay phone. Shit, things are getting real and I’m freaking out. Weighing my options of jumping in the car to search for him or wait by the home phone to ring.

Around noon the phone finally rings and I answer it on the first ring. The voice on the other end isn’t my father, it’s an unfamiliar voice. It’s a younger man’s voice that reminds me of a stoned Shaggy from Scooby Doo. Shaggy says to me, “Scott… Well your dad, he rolled his Rascal.” I repeat back to him, “he rolled his Rascal” in a very confused tone. He explains that dad is okay but he’s scratched up and a little shaken. Shaggy informs me that he is working at the gas station near Arizona State University about 5 miles from our house and dad is with him.

I grab my keys and jump in my truck that I rarely drive anymore. As I approach the gas station I’m a bit nervous. Not knowing what kind of condition dad is going to be in and really confused why he’d be out by the university. I see dad standing by the payphones outside. I check on him first to make sure he is good. He waved me off probably a bit embarrassed. Then I went in to thank Shaggy for helping my dad through this situation. Shaggy had seen my dad riding along the sidewalk when the Rascal wheels closest to the street went off the curb sending him tumbling into the street. You have to understand this is not a residential street. This intersection is at the heart of the university with a ton of traffic. Shaggy left his post at the gas station and rendered aide to my dad. Faith in humanity restored.

With Shaggy’s help we loaded the Rascal into my truck. On the way home dad was silent. Not sure what was going through his head but I had to ask. “Dad, where were you going?” There was a few seconds of silence then he blurts out, “strip club!” Not knowing how to respond or feel about this revelation I waited a few seconds then asked, “how was it?” Again moments of silence then again he blurts out, “closed!” Again not really sure what to say next I decided to stay silent. The embarrassment of the Rascal incident and the realization that he had ridden 5 miles in AZ summer heat to a closed strip club. There wasn’t much that I could say that would make a bit of difference.

After a few minutes of complete silence dad chuckles a bit. I look over at him to make sure I saw what I thought I heard. Sure enough he had a wide grin on his face. I continue to stare until he notices that I’m extremely curious as to what is so amusing. He says to me, “it wasn’t all bad though. The strippers were holding a bikini car wash next door to the strip club.” Apparently he had pulled his Rascal around to get a wash.

This was our little secret. I don’t think mom would have been upset, but neither of us wanted to explain the situation. You know, I’m not sure she knows to this day.

In August of that year dad passed away and with him so many great stories.

Next Chapter: Deja Vu