Originally published on Autos.ca on June 14, 2013 (Father’s Day Feature: Driving Lessons from Dad)
Article by Tom Sedens, photos from the Sedens family album
Father’s Day. A day that means a million things to me these days. I was raised by a father that wasn’t just a dad. My dad was a great friend to me as well. I always knew I was loved, regardless of what was going on. And that really cements everything a kid needs into place.
Driving was a big part of my childhood. We used to do a lot of it on a daily basis because I grew up on an acreage, and we had to put a ton of miles on our vehicles to drive to the city.
Because driving has always been a big deal to me, I spent a good chunk of our family’s driving time watching my dad do it. He was a pretty laid back driver – no road rage to be found here. As a matter of fact, the simple act of observing him taught me the basics of driving a manual. And drive a manual I did – my first experience with stretching my left leg out, pushing that weird pedal down and throwing a stick into first gear was when I was 12 years old. My parents were away, and I grabbed the keys to our F-150 4x4. I was determined to drive it that day. Of course, I never caught the fact that it might be in gear when you start it. So yes, I did receive a nice case of whiplash from the first attempt to start it in gear. Oh, and when I said “first gear” it actually turned out to be third and it was a pretty hiccupy start. But I got it after a couple of minutes, and I knew I had it because I’d watched my daddy follow those steps over and over again.
When they got home, my dad immediately noticed the truck was not where he had left it. He slowly walked over to it, as my heart sunk further and further and my mouth dried out in panic. He placed his hand on the hood, feeling the warmth. He turned around at me and just let the corners of his mouth turn into a smile. And he said: “You’re too young to be driving.” I thought to myself: “Are you kidding?! What are you going to do to me?!”
And my dad followed it up with: “Your mom will have a heart attack, and besides you can’t afford the gas. Next time, you drive with me. Understand?” No punishment, not even a tongue-lashing. I’ll never forget how gently he let me down, and I never took his vehicles without asking again.
We also undertook a large number of road trips as a family. My brothers were 11 and 12 years older than me, so I barely remember them coming along. It was mostly just my parents and me. And there are two things I’ll never forget about my dad’s highway driving. First of all, divided highways weren’t as commonplace back then. Which means we spent a goodly portion of our time on two-lane highways. Which means, if you were in a hurry, you had to pass. Into oncoming traffic.
My dad was perhaps the most fearless highway passer I have ever driven with. I would always watch as he pulled out, and I noted that he always waited for the dashed lines. He never broke the don’t-pass-on-a-solid-line rule. But I could see… no, I could feel the eagerness, the anticipation and the rush as he saw the dashed lines coming up. And then – then he’d step on it. I’d feel the old automatic transmissions shifting lazily down to the appropriate gear. And I’d feel the old V8s rumbling up the revs as we slowly built momentum. As we slid past the slower cars, I’d start getting nervous. Because there were cars coming toward us. IN OUR LANE! And every single time, my dad seemed to cut it so close. It seemed as though it would be seconds until that vehicle would be upon us, and every single time it seemed as though he timed it just right, passing the maximum amount of cars possible and slipping us back into the right lane with inches to pass.
I also remember that he would be looking around, to both sides of the road, as we headed into the forests and mountains here in Alberta and in B.C. My daddy was a hunter, and his eye was trained to look for wildlife. And it would be hilariously predictable that he would spend as much time scanning the countryside and fields and ditches and foothills for any speck. Any hint of movement. Anything dark that didn’t belong. And it was equally hilarious that my mother would remind him ceaselessly to please watch the road. And to question whether seeing a coyote or elk was more important than the family’s safety. My dad never answered verbally, but swung his eyes back onto the road. For a few seconds.
My first new car was also my grad present. Was I spoiled? You better believe it. My dad let me pick it, and I chose a 1991 Audi 20V Quattro coupe. It was a beautiful Tornado Red, and I would have happily slept in that car. I remember he had other suggestions. He thought I should consider other options, and I’m certain that his thoughts were along the lines of sensibility, reliability, you name it. Anything other than the pure emotion I was basing my wishes on. But I will never forget when he silently nodded and I got my glowing red two-door Quattro. I loved him for that. For the trust he put in me. He never even asked to drive it. He just smiled when he handed me the keys. The first passenger I ever had in it was my daddy.
Unfortunately my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer not too long after that. He fought – hard – for a year and half. But there was a different plan for our family. On Mother’s Day in 1994, one of my brothers was killed in a car accident. And I believe that was what caused my dad to give up the fight. He wasn’t the same after that. And on July 29th, 1994, after two weeks in the hospital, my sweet daddy gave up. I was the only one with him and I held his hand as he fought for those last breaths. He willed together the strength to open his eyes just one more time. And he looked up at me, pain clearly clouding every instant, and said “I have to go, son.” And he went.
Nowadays, I’m a dad. I have three kids – Abigail, 9, Amalie, 5, and Andon, 2. And I find it amazing that I see so much of them in me. Abigail asks constantly – so what is your left leg doing? Why does it push that pedal down, and then let it go again? Why is the gear shift in that pattern? How is first gear different from second gear? I hear questions that coursed through my mind 35 years ago.
I can’t wait to put my own kids behind the wheel for the first time. Yet I wonder – will I come home one day to find my own car moved from its resting spot? Will I know my kid drove it? Will I remember that I did the exact same thing? And will I remember to be patient, and loving, and kind as my own father was to me?
Driving remains a huge part of my life. It is a passion. It is an outlet. It is a job. It is more than can be put into words. I’m glad my dad never ignored my questions, my musings and my thoughts on our interaction with vehicles, and I hope to see my kids share the same passion with me.
I miss my dad. Every day. I wish he’d been able to meet my wife and to show her the love he showed me. I wish he’d be able to hold my kids and to hang out with them and to teach them the things he taught me. But I am so very thankful for the 20 years I had with him and for what he did for me. And for what he taught me. I just hope I can be a fraction of the daddy he was.
Dad, I hope you know I’m thinking about you on Father’s Day and remembering all that you did for me. And I hope you can see me driving and that you think “I taught him that!” and I hope you see that I’m trying to be a daddy like you were – the best kind. I’m looking forward to seeing you again one day, and talking cars again. I love you! Drive on, daddy!
