I remember a time –

It might have been in the sixties. Or maybe the seventies.

I think I was living in Pennsylvania then. Or Ohio.

And I was probably in –

Let me think.

I was born in 1956 so if it was in the sixties, I would have probably been thirteen or so.

So, no.

No, I think I was older than that.

So it must have been in the 1970s when this happened.

Yes, that’s right. I was in high school.

It was a sunny day.

Dad and I – he had his red Thunderbird then –

Oh, no, wait, he had the Monte Carlo, the burgundy Monte Carlo.

You know the model, the one with the swoopy lines, and the captain’s chairs?

He bought that new in 1974.

Had to be 1974 because I graduated that year, and I remember driving that car.

Then I left home.

Oh, and we were living in Virginia. That’s right.

I remember now. It’s all coming back.

It was ’74.

Anyway, Dad and I were in the car together, going somewhere.

I think it was a Sunday.

Yes, it must have been a Sunday, because he was off.

We were going to a restaurant for dinner.

Which surprised me. He suggested it. We never went out for dinner, he and I.

It was just us living together then.

Yes, I remember, we went to an Italian restaurant. He had the veal parm.

I don’t know what I had.

Anyway, let me finish.

We were in the Monte Carlo.

And he said, “What do you plan to do with your life?”

The question surprised me.

He never asked me these things.

Shrugging after a few seconds, I answered, “I don’t know.

“What did you plan to do with your life?”

We came to a red traffic light. He stopped the car behind the other cars.

We were the fourth car.

The car in front of us was a pickup truck.

Dad looked out the windshield straight ahead until the light turned green.

Then, as we started forward, he said, “Touché.”