by Danna Shirley
I was sixteen and my dad had allowed me to take our
family’s second car to the football game on Friday night, “But don’t go to the
Pizza Parlor afterward and DON’T
cruise the main,” he warned. “Come straight home!”
Everyone who was anyone cruised the main after the game to
celebrate our victory (or mourn our defeat) and to see who was doing what, in
what, and with whom. After a respectable amount of trips traveling up and down
23rd Street in front of our school, everyone went for pizza and
dancing. I even had classes with one of
the band members and I wanted him to see me.
It was always the place to be. I called a few
girlfriends so I wouldn’t be alone, a sure sign of popularity suicide.
Well, we made it up and down the main a few times and
even got parked in the pizza lot without mishap. We had a great time eating and
dancing and flirting but I didn’t want to stay too late because Dad knew when
the game was over and when to expect me home. I already had my “story” ready to
give him about why I was late, “I had to take my girlfriends home after the
game.”
When it was time to go, I gathered up everyone and out to
the car we went. My little Monza was parked next to a big Cadillac. All of my
months of driving insured that I could back out of the parking space with
confidence. However, my inexperience didn’t prepare me for the deep scratch and
scraped paint that went all the way down the side of my car from bumper to bumper
as I tried to maneuver my exit. Of course, I didn’t have the foresight to stop
with the first sound of metal . . . I just kept right on going. My friends were
like Job’s friends, bad advice! They
said, “Run for it, nobody saw you!”
Well, I at least knew that I should get out and look at
the damage and leave a note on the Caddy. We all piled out to look at this huge
dent on my car but there was no evidence of anything on the Cadillac. Again
they said, “Run for it!” After surveying both vehicles and seeing that I was
the only one that had to face the music, I took their advice and left the
scene.
I drove slower and slower as I dropped off each girl at
her house, trying to delay the inevitable. I knew I would confess my
disobedience because lying would dig me a deeper pit and the evidence was
sitting out there in the driveway. The worst part of the whole fiasco was facing
my dad’s disappointment. He was so good to me. How could I have been so terrible?
By the time I pulled into our driveway, I had worked myself into an emotional wreck.
I walked in the door in tears and stood at the foot of my parent’s bed sobbing
so that I could hardly get my confession out.
Dad looked at me and asked if I was alright. “Yes,” I
bawled as I waited for him to come down on me with both feet. I was prepared
for restriction, losing my driving privilege, and anything else he could think
of as my punishment and I knew I would have deserved every bit of it.
He very calmly said, “Well go to bed, honey, and we’ll
talk about it tomorrow.” I am now 56 years old and we still have never talked
about it!
The next day I was his shadow as we walked the length of
the car. The damage in daylight was more than I could bear. Dad never gave me a
dirty look or said a negative word to me. He just said he could fix it. He
banged out the dent and sanded it down and painted it. I didn’t want to leave him
with all the labor but the only thing I could do to help was witness his body
work and learn from my mistake!
Years later I asked my dad why he didn’t punish me. He
said he could tell that I had punished myself that night on the way home far
more than he ever could have done. That day he gave me the gift of GRACE . . . undeserved mercy. I
learned that I never wanted to disappoint my dad again and I hope I never have.
Today,
2005, he is 84 years old. He is still healthy and active; still wise in the
eyes of his daughter . . . and still banging out dents—restoring his Model A’s.
I love you, dad . . . Howard Eurbie Goines!!!
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