My dad, my chauffeur.

I grew up living in my grandparents house, because they lived down the street from my preschool.  Outside of my grans all adults were casual characters that I saw every once in awhile, when someone would pick me up from Gran's and drive me to this other house filled with adults and no toys.  Eventually, I was left there for days, and it dawned on me that this new place was home now.  It dawned on me that this person who drove me places was a parent and, inexplicably, I owned him.  He was my father. 

Most of my memories of dad involved a car.  My school was on the other side of town, so he was often roused at six thirty in the morning to take me to school when I missed the bus.  He dropped me off at Saturday marching rehearsals, and picked me up from after-school Science Olympiad.  He took me to study groups at Christy's house, and waited for me, car idling, when I ran into the library to pick up another source for my history paper.  He drove me to Fresno at  3 AM so that I could attend a "Visit the UCLA Campus!" workshop.  He loaded my things in the car and helped me move to my dorm Freshman year.  Six hour drive to Los Angeles, thirty minutes to unpack, six hour drive back to Stockton- he didn't even stay to have lunch.  

In his life he's tried the following professions: bus driver, semi truck driver, ice cream truck driver.  If the wheel was never invented my dad would be SOL. 

My sister's car is in the shop, and the BMW is on its last legs.  My dad's pick up failed to pass smog so many times that the state paid him one thousand dollars to stop driving it.  My car was considered most likely to survive a trip to my aunt's house this Christmas Eve, so I volunteered to drive.  As Patriarch, my father has never really experienced the freedom from responsibility that comes with not being the designated driver.  He really let loose: glasses of wine in one hand, bottles of Heineken in the other.  Drinks with appetizers, dinner, and dessert.  That evening I poured my dad into the back seat and the rest of our family of five squeezed in around him.  As I'm heading to the freeway, my dad picks his head up from mom's shoulder and says, "Ahhouy, you driving right now, I feel good.  I feel very good about this."  

Me too dad.