All of the Roads
It’s been a long time since I was traveling down a road in Connecticut.
Yet, there I was on 91 near Hartford and I thought, I’ve been here before.
Thirty years ago...
...if my math is correct.
And I thought about the year I spent there, living in West Haven, working on a job in New Haven, hanging out at Toad’s Place (the Yale College bar), running to New York for Yankees-Red Sux games, seeing the Stones walk off a bus...
...ten feet from me.
Then I thought of my Dad.
He was the one who got the job for me. We lived together for a couple of months, then he got homesick, quit, and left me there.
Yet, before he left, we had dinner every night. He’d wake me up early on Saturday and Sunday because he wanted company.
I recalled one Saturday morning when I’d tried to sleep past seven. He was at the kitchen table playing solitaire and I heard the cards being shuffled (he was a loud, prolonged shuffler).
“Guess it’s MY turn to take the garbage to the dumpster,” he said, loud enough for me to hear, even with the pillow over my ears.
Then he said it four more times.
Finally, I’d had enough, I got out of bed, plucked the garbage bag front under the kitchen sink, walked out the front door, down the steps, across the parking lot, and tossed it into the dumpster.
Oh yeah.
I slept in just my underwear, and I hadn’t bothered to pull on a pair of shorts.
As I drove the road 30 years later, I could hear Dad’s laughter...
...still ringing in my ears.
I remembered the night that he tried to hook me up with our waitress at our favorite steak place.
I don’t know who was more mortified, me or the poor girl.
“He’s not good-looking enough?” Dad asked her.
How was the girl supposed to answer that.
“I’m engaged to be married,” she finally said.
“That’s not gonna’ work out,” he answered. “You’ve been staring at my son all night.”
Poor girl.
And when Dad returned to Buffalo, I stayed on with a great group of guys and we finished a hotel and parking garage project.
It was my first real job. I worked a lot of hours, drank a lot of beer, and made some great friends.
So many roads.
Every single road I’ve traveled has led me to where I am. I had enjoyed Connecticut, but it was never home.
I’d learned a lot.
Laughed a lot.
And was sad to go.
30 years later I returned, and the road was familiar in a weird way.
I drove for about 180 miles...
...my physical being in 2018.
...my heart and head in 1988.
I wonder if that girl’s marriage worked out.
Hope so.
My road has been steady.
Yet, there I was on 91 near Hartford and I thought, I’ve been here before.
Thirty years ago...
...if my math is correct.
And I thought about the year I spent there, living in West Haven, working on a job in New Haven, hanging out at Toad’s Place (the Yale College bar), running to New York for Yankees-Red Sux games, seeing the Stones walk off a bus...
...ten feet from me.
Then I thought of my Dad.
He was the one who got the job for me. We lived together for a couple of months, then he got homesick, quit, and left me there.
Yet, before he left, we had dinner every night. He’d wake me up early on Saturday and Sunday because he wanted company.
I recalled one Saturday morning when I’d tried to sleep past seven. He was at the kitchen table playing solitaire and I heard the cards being shuffled (he was a loud, prolonged shuffler).
“Guess it’s MY turn to take the garbage to the dumpster,” he said, loud enough for me to hear, even with the pillow over my ears.
Then he said it four more times.
Finally, I’d had enough, I got out of bed, plucked the garbage bag front under the kitchen sink, walked out the front door, down the steps, across the parking lot, and tossed it into the dumpster.
Oh yeah.
I slept in just my underwear, and I hadn’t bothered to pull on a pair of shorts.
As I drove the road 30 years later, I could hear Dad’s laughter...
...still ringing in my ears.
I remembered the night that he tried to hook me up with our waitress at our favorite steak place.
I don’t know who was more mortified, me or the poor girl.
“He’s not good-looking enough?” Dad asked her.
How was the girl supposed to answer that.
“I’m engaged to be married,” she finally said.
“That’s not gonna’ work out,” he answered. “You’ve been staring at my son all night.”
Poor girl.
And when Dad returned to Buffalo, I stayed on with a great group of guys and we finished a hotel and parking garage project.
It was my first real job. I worked a lot of hours, drank a lot of beer, and made some great friends.
So many roads.
Every single road I’ve traveled has led me to where I am. I had enjoyed Connecticut, but it was never home.
I’d learned a lot.
Laughed a lot.
And was sad to go.
30 years later I returned, and the road was familiar in a weird way.
I drove for about 180 miles...
...my physical being in 2018.
...my heart and head in 1988.
I wonder if that girl’s marriage worked out.
Hope so.
My road has been steady.
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