Daddy and Stephen

Today I post my One Hundredth Post on A Voice in the Wind. Huzzah! Huzzah! It isn't much of a milestone when you consider I'm now posting every day. But the number suggests importance, which is why I am glad it happened on a Saturday, when my assigned topic is Daddy and Stephen. (I didn't work it out this way on purpose. It just happened.)

Daddy was an over-the-road truck driver during the overlap years between him and Stephen. There were only four years. I met Stephen when I was a Freshman in High School. Daddy died when I was a Senior. The result of this was Daddy and Stephen seldom met, and spoke together even less. Stephen's dad was far more familiar with me. (No. Not like that. Come on.)

In the summer of my Junior year, just before school started, Daddy brought me up north with him to visit Alfred, Daddy's best friend in all the world. Mother came, too. I don't recall who suggested it, but I was allowed to ask Stephen if he wanted to join us. We would leave Friday evening and return Sunday morning. It was a two hundred mile trip. Stephen checked with his parents and they consented. So it was the four of us.

Now I loved being in the country, and stayed every August with my Grandma Amy up at Willow River. One year I was even allowed to spend a July at Alfred's house. That was a fantastic year! It meant two whole months away from home. (Which meant two whole months without getting slapped even once!)

Stephen, however, was very much a product of suburbia. He needed the things suburbs had to offer: lights, parks, stores, restaurants and, above all, people. Staying up at Alfred's was not to Stephen's liking but, to his credit, he was entirely mannerly and accepting of Alfred and June's hospitality. But his being bored meant I was bored. Stephen didn't want to walk in the woods just to see the flora and fauna - which was basically the same as what could be seen from the house. I loved being in the trees. I felt like Alice in Wonderland, or Hansel and Gretel, or Red Riding Hood, or some other fairy tale person who got to wander in the woods. Not Stephen. So we stayed in the house and played cards. First we used the deck of rounds cards we found. Then Alfred gave us a deck of "crooked" cards, cut in the general shape of a "Z".

Daddy and Alfred must have sensed our boredom, and the cause of it (I had been up there many times and had a blast). What they felt was needed was something especially fun. Something to help Stephen "get into things". Alfred had the perfect solution: we would go for a drive.

Now those of you who are like-minded with Stephen already know how much fun Stephen had on this drive. For those of you who tend more toward my feelings, you are probably tingling with anticipation to hear the wonders we found.

My family loved driving. I grew up in a time where gas was roughly $0.33 per gallon and vehicles got 20-mpg on 20-gallon tanks. I remember many weekends where Daddy and Mother would pile all the kids in the car on a Sunday morning and we would just drive across the countryside until supper. We carried jugs of water and bags of sandwiches. (Sometimes Mother would cook up a couple dozen hot dogs.) It was great. Only Stephen didn't think so.

I was nice and gave him the window seat. Mother sat to my left. Daddy sat in the passenger seat in front, next to June. Alfred drove. (Back in those days few cars had bucket seats.)

We left and drove all around the lands north of Grand Rapids. Alfred showed Stephen the Continental Divide. Not many people know Minnesota has one. It's marked by a sign along the highway. If you're traveling faster than 40-mph you will probably miss it. The sign's only about one foot by two. Black lettering on a white background. That's it. The rest of the area is marked by trees. Lots and lots of trees. Picturesque in the fall.

It was getting dark now, and so Alfred was ready for the pieste resistance: The Garbage Dump.

The appeal of going to a garbage dump at dusk in northern Minnesota may escape many of you. (Many? Only four people actually read this blog.) Let me explain.

Northern Minnesota is home to a good population of small black bears. Black bears are scroungers. They look for food where they can find it. Over time they learn that garbage dumps are an excellent source of easy to be had nourishment. So the idea was that we would go to the dump and watch black bears scrounge for food. They're shy creatures, so they would not be coming up to the car. Perfectly safe.

Especially so considering no black bears showed up that night. After waiting an appropriate amount of time, Mother and June decided they were going to go find bathroom trees. Daddy, Alfred, Stephen and I sat in the car with the doors and windows open. (It was stuffy.) It didn't take long before the mosquitos found us. (For every black bear in northern Minnesota, there are 6-billion mosquitos, and within ten minutes of going outside they will ALL find you.) We began slapping arms and necks. Then Daddy said we'd best close the doors and windows. Alfred begrudging agreed, commenting (and now we finally get to the point of this vignette), "Damn mosquitos. Just when you're having fun."

I felt Stephen's reaction. I did not dare look at him. When Mother and June returned from the trees and began wandering through the trash themselves (another favorite pastime of people without money), Daddy and Alfred left to do their business. Stephen and I remained in the car. Stephen looked at me.

"I almost died when he said 'just when you're having fun.' Fun?"

Stephen would continue to rant about that for the next seven years. Thereafter, whenever things got boring, Stephen would announce, "Just when we were having fun, too."