Why looking back sometimes helps pave the way forward
Here’s a belated Father’s Day story.
My father, in my humble estimation, was a great man. Strong, smart, humble, and a hard worker. As a grown-up, I also realized he was quite quiet. Where other folks have regaled me with stories of their boisterous, cantankerous, full-of-opinion fathers, mine was quietly content to read books and newspapers in silence. I don’t ever remember receiving a single spanking from the man, which is not to say we weren’t scared of the idea of his wrath.
But one area where my father was fragile was teaching me how to drive. In the late ’80s, a driver’s license represented so much more freedom. I was an October baby, so I had to suffer the indignity of seeing peers just a few months older than me zooming around in the family car—or worse, somehow wrangling a car of their own to get to school, church, an outdoor concert, anything.
So I put a lot of pressure on my driving lessons and hours out on the road. At the time, we had a sad old station wagon with wood panels on the side. It was an embarrassment to drive. I, however, was willing to do anything for my license.
My father barely made it through this “driving lesson” phase, especially when it came to parallel parking. That might seem easy today with driver-assist features and rear cameras guiding the way. But back then, I had to park a behemoth of a vehicle again and again all around my neighborhood. I wanted to drive, to cruise, to feel free. But instead, we spent so much time just parking. We’d pull up next to another car and talk through how I was supposed to angle back in, the importance of distance, and how to eyeball my way into a tight spot.
I was mad. I wanted to speed down boulevards. But I was spending most of my time at nine and two o’clock, looking back over the crumpled vinyl seats in the wagon. I whined, and in a rare moment of frustration, my father yelled back. I don’t remember the particulars, but I do remember it was one of only two times I ever recall him raising his voice at me. I got the message and continued my frustrating lessons in reverse driving. Fuming the entire time.
Fast forward to a month later, when it was time to take my driver’s test. My father rented a standard-size car—no wood paneling—just for my exam.
I took the test and passed the first time, no problem. The instructor even complimented me on my parallel parking technique. Passing that test on your first try is dicey—less than half of people do. I credit my father for helping me pass and for teaching me something I didn’t know I was learning.
Do you always want to be looking in the rearview mirror? Absolutely not! But sometimes you have to look back to figure out where you need to go next. As I work on revamping my illustration portfolio, I’ve had to look back at what I’ve made—what I liked, what I didn’t—to know what comes next. I don’t want to live in the past, but I need to be aware of it. I have to embrace it as I build the work that comes next.
Have you ever felt some fear about looking back at your past? What did you discover when you did? I would love to know. For now, though thanks for supporting the work and my ramblings.