Daddy’s Cadillac

My father grew up as the fifth child in a family of nine children.  His father died when he was only nine years old; leaving his mother with nine children ages one year to fifteen years old.  Also leaving a mortgage on a small three bedroom house in a rural Maine town.  His mother never wanted her children to be left alone or with sitters.  So, she worked out of her home and made only enough money to meet the needs of her large family.

It was these early years that shaped my father’s desire for better things.  He was always grateful for his mother’s hard work and dedication, but he knew that he wanted to have a better life for himself and his family.  He wanted a large home where each of his children could have her own room.  He wanted to be able to take his wife on tropical vacations and most of all, he wanted to drive a big fancy Cadillac.

These dreams motivated my dad to be the first in his family to put himself through college.  He graduated from the University with honors.  From there he got a good, middle-class job, working in the computer industry.  This job gave him enough income to buy a five bedroom home where each of us children had our own bedroom.  My father took my mother to Hawaii for their honeymoon and again after my older sister was born.  Yet, it wasn’t until I was four or five before my father realized his true dream, to own that big fancy Cadillac.

I can still picture that car the first day Dad brought it home. It was brand new and smelled of new leather inside, but that didn’t stop my dad from sitting in it for hours that first day.   The car was huge.  It stretched down the driveway for what seemed like a hundred feet. It was bright white with a dark blue roof.  It also had a silver hood-ornament and big wings that ran down the trunk.  It seemed more like a boat then a car.  Not only for its enormous size, but also because when you rode in it, it felt as though you were floating on water.

My father LOVED that car.  He polished and waxed it; he cleaned the upholstery; he even bought cover to protect it from the night air.  MY mother thought my father was a bit ridiculous, but she allowed him his car worshiping ceremonies.

We children, only two of us at that time, were warned,  very sternly, not to go anywhere near that car.  On day my sister accidentally rode her bike into the side of the front door, causing a small scratch in the paint.  My father was so furious when he found out, he grounded her for life. (My mother talked him down and she was eventually released for good behavior)   After that day she wouldn’t even play in the front yard.

For the next full year my father pampered that car.  He worked long hours and then spent most of his evenings waxing it or doing something to it.   Evenings he used to spend playing games with Katie and me.  Now, we hardly saw him at all.  

Then IT happened.

My older sister and I had been running around and bothering my parents who were trying to get ready to go over to my grandparent’s house for dinner.

“If you two don’t stop running and roughhousing, I’m going to leave you at home tonight.  Katie, you’re too old to be bickering with a five year old.   Why don’t you take your sister and go wait in the car.” Suggested my mother, in a commanding tone.  “Go NOW!”

           My sister and I could hardly believe the idea of being entrusted with waiting alone in Daddy’s Cadillac.  With some hesitation we went to the top of the driveway and crawled into the front of that big car.  The front seat seemed really huge with only two little girls in it.  Soon after we got in we started to “discuss” which one of us would get to sit in the front on the way to Grandma and Grandpa’s house.

“I’m the oldest, I should sit in front,” Katie commanded.

“Uh ah, I should, ‘cause you  always get to.”  I argued.

“No! I’m going to sit in front with Daddy!” Katie screamed as she kicked her feet in a temper, hitting the parking brake release in the process.

My parent’s home sits on a hill.  The driveway slopes away from the house down towards the road.  Across from the road there is a beautiful brook.

“The car is moving!!!”  I screamed, as the car began to roll down the driveway.  At that moment my sister slammed her whole body down on the brakes and the car jolted to a stop.

           “Get out, get out!  Hurry!”   She yelled frantically.

           I got out and ran as fast as I could up to the house to get my parents.

Unfortunately, before I got all the way in, my sister took herself off the brake.  The car began once more to roll.  It proceeded to roll down the driveway, across the road and over the embankment into the brook.  The only thing that could be seen from the house were the little wings sticking up off the trunk.

           My parents came rushing out of the house after hearing the crash, only to find one daughter and no car.

           “Where is Katie?!”  My mother demanded.

           “In Daddy’s car.” I replied.

           “Where is my car?!”  Asked my father desperately.

           “In the brook.”   I said pointing toward the road.

           My parents ran down to the brook and got my sister out of the Cadillac.  Luckily, she only broke her arm.  My father’s Cadillac wasn’t nearly as lucky.  The blue roof had been torn by the branches of the trees that lined the embankment.  The white paint was horribly scratched and the front end of the car had been smashed in by the rocks in the brook.

           When my father asked why she had released the brake after letting me out, my sister replied, with tears rolling down her nine year old face, “ I didn’t  want you to get mad cause we were fighting in the car.”  At hearing that, my father scooped us both up in his arms and hugged us tight.

           After that day my father cut back his hours at work and began to spend his evenings playing games once again.

           My father did pay to have the Cadillac completely fixed.   The white paint was touched up and the blue roof was repaired.  You couldn’t even tell that the front end had been smashed in.  The car was almost as good as new.  Then my father sold his dream car. 

He has never owned a Cadillac since; however, he has had three more daughters.