Taking Me God Knows where

It was somewhere on the road, the body shook, the tin radio screamed, my feet pressed hard toward the floor that my Dad said “hey that’s your song”.  I listened closely as the words made their way over the confusion of manual shifting and my Dad’s view of what I was. At nine or eight reality does not matter, I was trying to take it all in.

Dad’s Ford rumbled down the road, every twist still in my last second dream scenes.
Dreams that shake me awake.

The lyrics consumed me as he grabbed the road with his new toy under him. His industrious young mind guzzling fuel. Inhaling what’s before him, laying concrete on lichens ground. No spot too small or remote, the Ford spit asphalt. I counted my faults feeling my skin sweat for the first time. My pores opened up as the machine under us charged. The music played.

The lyrics never leaving me.

“I’m a joker, I’m a smoker, I’m a midnight toker I get my loving on the run.”

Riding shotgun with Dad never meant so much.

Riding shotgun means you never get the wheel.

“Some people call me the space cowboy some people call me the gangster of love, some people call me Maurice cause I speak of the pompetous of love”.

I never did find pompetous in the dictionary and I am pretty sure my Dad never gave that song much thought.
But I understood what joker and midnight toker meant and I felt no need to argue over the wind blowing through the windows. I was sure if I could be anything in that song a joker and midnight toker wasn’t a stretch.
The truth is I have not recovered from the gas crisis of the 70’s and my fathers blatant disregard towards the fragility of the planet.

Later in life I found out Steve Miller didn’t make up the word “pompetous” someone before him did. His name was Green, green like I was in that car. So much is not what it seems when your nine and your Dad is taking you god knows where.

A tin ford rumbling and shaking peach trees.
Riding shotgun with my father, crossing over the back bays. The smell of sweetened coffee, saltwater mingling with rolling clouds and the haze of the past captured from thousands of days forgotten. Water colors painted with a child’s hand on the back walls of dreams. Crossing over bridges to beaches, my dad’s right hand man.

The Space Cowboy.
 

 

2 thoughts on “Taking Me God Knows where

  1. Tom, I love that last paragraph and the ride, some wild, some not, along with you and your dad. I’m looking for my seat belt, but I don’t think there are any.

    Never knew the word was “pompetous”; just assumed I didn’t clearly hear what it really was. 🙂

    janet

    1. Janet,
      Thanks for reading and commenting. That word always drove me crazy..so I looked into it and sure as hell pompetous is a made up word…
      Back then if you had a seatbelt you were not wearing it…I have some crazy stories from when I was a kid. This is nothing compared to some of them. I wrote this years ago but I think it captures my Dad’s spirit. Thanks again!
      Tom

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published.