This event took place in the late 1940's or early 1950's when times were much simpler and so were cars. I don't remember the make of the car, but it may have been a Buick.
DADDY'S LEFT-HANDED LUG NUTS
A Father's Day Story
by Marjorie L. Garrett
"Hey, Daddy, the car has a flat tire," my brother, Duane, and I yelled in unison as we ran into the house one summer Sunday morning.
"Slow down, you two," Daddy said. "Go change your clothes and wash up for dinner."
As we went to our rooms to change out of the clothes we had worn to Sunday School, we heard Daddy say to Mom, "After dinner, I'll change the tire. Then how would you like to go for a drive?"
Dinner seem to drag on forever, as Duane and I waited impatiently for Daddy to finish so he could go fix the tire. Finally, he got up from the table and, with my brother and I trailing along, went outside.
Mom's voice followed us out the door, admonishing Daddy not to get his good clothes dirty.
"Now, Ella, it won't take me but a minute to put the spare on and I'll be careful," he answered.
Duane and I watched as Daddy took the spare out of the trunk of the car and bounced it lightly a couple of times to check the air in it. Then, he reached into the trunk for the jack, a screwdriver, and the lug wrench.
Several minutes later, after he had renamed the lug wrench when it slipped and caused him to cut two knuckles on his hand, Daddy stood up and reached in his back pocket for his handkerchief.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and then wrapped the handkerchief around his hand to stop the flow of blood from his knuckles.
My brother and I looked at each other with the same thought...Mom wasn't going to be happy with Daddy for getting blood on his good white handkerchief.
Then, Duane, in youthful innocence, said, "Daddy, maybe you're turning the things in the wrong direction."
"Yeah, Daddy," I said.
Too late, we realized this was not the best time to be offering sage advice.
After explaining to us, in a strained voice, the facts of life as they related to lug nuts, Daddy told both of us to get lost.
From a safe distance, we watched Daddy walk toward the house, seeing our hopes of a Sunday drive, and perhaps ice cream afterwards, dashed.
Later, Daddy came out again to attempt to change the tire. Within a few minutes, he had the spare on the car and the flat tire and the tools in the trunk.
He dusted his hands off and strode toward the house with a satisfied look on his face.
Mom came to the door, shortly after Daddy went inside, and called Duane and I in to wash up so we could go for that long-anticipated drive in the country.
When we came into the kitchen, Daddy motioned for Duane to sit at the table with him. "I owe you an apology, son," he said. "You were right. I was turning the lug nuts in the wrong direction."
He added, as much to Mom as to Duane, "That's the first time I have ever seen a car with lug nuts that loosen in that direction. They are the opposite of what they should be."
Not being one to let a golden opportunity pass, I decided now -- while Daddy was in a contrite and magnanimous mood -- was a good time to bring up the subject of ice cream.
I have recalled that summer Sunday many times over the years when I have found myself dealing with circumstances or events which didn't fit the model in my head of how something should be.
When faced with the difficult, I would stop, wipe the sweat from my brow, and attend to my wounds. Then, when I had regained my composure, I would return to the task at hand with an open mind and new determination.
Oh yes, Duane and I did get our ice cream. Timing is also important -- but that's another story.
Published: The Post-Journal, "Tempo," Saturday, June 17, 1989
Comments may be sent to me at granny@netsync.net
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