13 Comments

Aw man, this was a trip down memory lane! Great story!

My dad also taught me to legally drive when I was fourteen on the old two lane, unstriped blacktop lanes of rural Western PA. [Driving the old flatbed truck around fields to bale hay didn't count, you know.] First time out, I was also flying along at fifteen mph as we crested a hill. "Give it some gas!" Dad yelled. I gunned it to twenty-five going downhill and hit the Amish farmer's chicken crossing the road. Dad made me take the bloody carcass up to the front door and tell Mr. Levi, "I'm sorry my color-of-the-devil-red car (my brother's old '67 LTD Land Yacht) killed your chicken." The fellow looked over at my dad sitting in the car across the road and I could tell both of them were doing their best not to bust out laughing.

Happy Farter's Day!

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Absolutely loved your Father’s Day story 🤩. Never really knew my dad as he was a very quiet man and regretted not asking him more questions about his life and history. He was a wealth of knowledge but not a talker. Oh the stories I never got to hear and thank you for sharing yours on this celebration of Father’s Day 💕.

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What a lovely tribute!!

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Smiling and crying at the end. You are the best story teller.

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What a terrific Fitz story! I didn't have a relationship with my father, so I read your stories vicariously.

Needed a good laugh today.

Happy Father"s Day to you, Dave.

Lynn Citron

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beautiful! I can see it all.

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What a great story!

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I also learned to drive on a Ford Falcon. "3 on a tree." It lasted all the way through undergrad and graduate school. I finally replaced it when I got married. My husband convinced me that the fumes constantly streaming through a hole in the steering wheel weren't safe. Thanks for sharing your story and bringing back old memories of my dad and his hand-me-down car.

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Fitz is a Riot! He makes me laugh & in These Stressful Times that Hard to do!

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"You're going to drive me to an early grave!" was also one of my father's favorite expressions that I haven't heard in many, many years. And he told me a story once about his having gone "joy riding" and wrecking the car. He got arrested, but his father was in the court system and got him off. He showed me a picture of himself from that period in which he was wearing a bowler hat and spats. Very Clockwork Orange-y. He also smoked Marlboros as far back as I can remember and did so pretty much until dying of lung cancer at 70. So he got his bilblical "three score and ten" that was all he ever asked for. In the summer of 1969 after my first year of college, I met a guy named Michael two years ahead of me who said that his father had been the original "cowboy" Marlboro Man in the magazine ads. His father had just died of cancer, which fits with the biography of Paul Birch on Wikipedia. He only made it to 57, so I guess he wasn't as tough as my father, who had also been a master sergeant, but finished the war as a chief warrant officer in charge of things like supplies and morale. No dummy, my father!

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What a fun story! I always enjoyed your Master Sargent stories and I wasn't expecting the ending to bring a few tears. Sorting through a loved ones possessions after they are gone is bittersweet. It's pure love that your Dad saved these all items all those years. So what did you do with them?

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The Master Sargent stories are the best! Love it!!!

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