Father Knows Best

Having grown up in the 80s, I watched the first episode of ‘The Goldbergs’ a couple of weeks ago. I wanted to see what they would do with a family comedy set during that time period. My viewing was partially nostalgic and the other half was scared that I lived through so many horrible things – mostly the clothing. 

I can’t say it was the best comedy I’ve ever seen but it did remind me of a lot of awkward moments. One scene resonated very loudly with me. It reminded me of my own experience. The moment is when the father teaches his son to drive a car. I felt as though I was living that same moment right on my sofa. 

The father yelled at the son and the son yelled back. I flashed back to: 

“Angie!!What are you doing?! NO!!!!! “ screamed my father as he grabbed the steering wheel from the passenger seat. 

“You are smarter than that”, whenever I made a move that he didn’t think was correct.

“Use your head!!”, if I didn’t focus and follow ‘the rules of the road’. 

Ohhh I remember it well. I don’t mean that in an entirely good way. All the times I spent arguing with my dad in the car were so painful when they were happening but so funny now when I look back on them. It’s so present in my mind that I’ve written about it before (c.f. GP(api)S). 

The way the father reacted in the show also reminded me of my dad. The Goldberg dad seemed to constantly blow a gasket. When I was growing up, I wanted to stay as far away as possible from my dad when he was angry. Although he was a very tiny man, his voice bellowed over great distances. I often wanted to go to the Grand Canyon with my dad to see if his gravelly smoker’s voice would carry across the immense caverns. I guess I’ll never know now. 

Another thing about the show that reminded me of my dad was how the dad called the kids ‘idiot’ or ‘moron’. Whenever the father said something to his progeny, there was a subtitle to explain what the father meant when he said these mean things. It really was horrible to see the father’s inability to communicate effectively with his kids. However my dad was no better. He said many choice things to us in his own special way. Of course they sounded better being in Italian. 

Now that I think about a lot about what he said and look for meaning in those phrases, I do see that good intentions were there in his messages. Because he never had anyone express their emotions to him growing up, he had no idea how to do it for us. He definitely tried his best and sometimes it was good and sometimes it left much to be desired. In the end what I saw in that episode of “The Goldbergs” and in my dad’s communiqués was that perhaps subtitles are needed when it comes to understanding some people.

GP(api)S

My dad had a great sense of direction. Having driven for so many years in Italy, Canada and in New York, he had a terrific instinct for when he was heading the wrong way. He had internal GPS before Garmin or any of those other companies did.

Despite this fact he wasn’t the most patient driving teacher or passenger. He taught both my sister and brother how to drive. He attempted to do so with me but after a few occasions of grabbing the steering wheel and taking control from the passenger seat, I told him that he was making me nervous. He told me to get driving lessons from a school then and to pay for it myself. Oh well.

After finally getting my driving license, having him in the car was trying. He would tell me how to get places by saying “Follow that red car” (substitute any color car you want, it was always the same). I’d look out onto the road and see 10 red cars. I’d ask him which one and he’d say ‘the one on the right’. Of course, there were 4 red cars on the right. This would result in a dispute of my asking him to be more specific. To which he’d get upset and then we’d end up missing the exit. Or the times when he’d tell me to prepare to make the exit. I’d approach the nearing exit and he’d say ‘not this one’. I’d look ahead but wouldn’t notice another exit but over on the right, a small, service exit would pass us. Then I’d hear a grumble and an ‘ugh’ because he was trying to teach me a short cut.

As my driving experience grew, he became more comfortable with my driving. We found a way to compromise. I asked him to tell me all the directions ahead of time, with visual markers. This made us both calmer and relaxed. The trips became easier to the point that my dad would fall asleep while I drove. This was the ultimate example of his trust in my driving. Sadly, one time he was snoozing and we had an accident. My first instinct wasn’t to save myself but to save him because I was afraid the shock would give him a heart attack. Even though he had his seat belt on, I put my hand out to hold him back. In doing so I braced myself and injured my knee but at least he was fine.

After the accident I insisted that I drive home even though I was shaken up. He said “Good! That’s what you should do. Get back behind the wheel!” Even though he had been sleeping, he blamed the whole accident on the other driver. It was very sweet although there was no basis in his opinion except that he thought I was a good driver and based on how the marks in the street were plotted.

I remember so many arguments and fights in the car with my dad. I was reminded of them all this past weekend when we went to visit a family member. I thought about all those debates fondly because it was such a familiar event whenever I was driving the car. At the time he drove me absolutely insane but I’d rather have those moments now than not.