If you want to ride in my Car

IF YOU WANT TO RIDE IN MY CAR

There was a time when I thought my dad didn't know a thing aboutbeing a good father. I couldn't remember him saying the words, "I loveyou." It seemed to me his soul purpose in life was to say "no" to anywhere I wanted to go and anything I wanted to do. Including getting a car. Someparents bought their kids cars when they got their driver's licenses. Notmy dad -- he said I'd have to get a job and buy my own.

So that's what I did. "I'll show him," I said to myself. "If hewon't get it for me, I'll get it myself." I got a job as a busgirl at avery nice ocean-view restaurant and saved every penny I could. And when Ihad enough to buy my own car, I did! The day I brought that car home, mydad was the first one I wanted to show it off. "Look, Dad, a car of myown-- all on my own. If ever you want a ride, I'll only charge you fivedollars." I offered with a smug smile.

"I see," was all he said. One day, my father's truck had to go to the shop and wouldn't beready to pick up until the next evening. So he needed a ride to work."If that five dollar offer is still open," my dad said, "I'll take you up on it."

"Okay, but you have to pay on delivery. I don't accept credit."

"I see, " was all he said. As I dropped my dad off I watched him, dressed in his work clothes and boots, getting his tools from the trunk of my car...

I could tell there were more lines than I ever remembered being there before. I thought about it and realized how hard dad works for his family. My father was a cementmixer.

Watching him lift heavy tools from the car...there was somethingabout him that looked a little more fragile than I recalled. In that instant, it occurred to me that he actually got down on his hands and knees to sweat over hot concrete to make a living for his family. And he did this day in and day out, no matter how he hot it got. Never, not once, had I heard him complain about it. Never had he held it up to his children as being some great sacrifice he made for us. I thought at how much he must love us -- so much that he's willing to do this hard labor in hot weather,and without so much as ever complaining or asking for anything inreturn. To him we were "worth" it. And never once did he "charge" us for it. When he slammed the trunk...he walked over to my window to hand me my five dollars. I rolled down the window and said, "Good-bye, Dad. Keep your five dollars. It's on me. Don't work too hard, I love you."

At first he looked puzzled, then in a clumsy sort of way --pleased. "I won't," he said, then added, "Thanks for the ride in your beautiful new car." His eyes met mine then glanced away in the direction of his waiting tools, he cleared his thought and said, "Oh, me too."

As I drove away, I knew "me, too" was enough because my father showed me his love with his actions, day after day, year after year. In that moment, I decided I'd give him a ride in my car anytime he wanted--free of charge.

By Marie Parada, (age-18)