Let’s Go For A Ride
My Daddy asked me if I wanted to go to the diner with him to have some coffee. I was about to get on a plane and not see him until he, my mom and brothers head out for our annual rafting trip in July, so I was more than willing to go.
He had been plowing the yard all morning long and now he was going to put the trash in the front of the bulldozer thing he uses to plow snow with, and haul it down to the shop where the dumpster is, conveniently next to the diner. (On a side note, I am sure I am going to get some kind of comment from my father as he subliminally shakes his finger at me for not knowing the name of the bulldozer thing).
“Daddy, do you want me to walk over there or are we taking the car?” I asked as I put on my coat, scarf and mittens.
“Ride with me.” He replied, seriously inferring we should ride together in the tiny, one-seat cab of the bulldozer thing.
“I should walk though, right?” I stared blankly at him.
All he could do was chuckle as he helped me into the cab and we shared a seat over to the dumpster. Then we walked to the diner. While riding in that huge snow-pushing machine, I thought to myself…this does not happen every day in California, it just doesn’t. No matter why I am back in New Hampshire, I always experience something that is one-of-a-kind that I just would not get the chance to be a part of if I never went home.
