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Show floor of the camper he caught the edge of the wheel that was available to him and pulled hard. The Winnie now banked sharply to the right, cabinets popping open, plates and napkins raining down on our card game. Having regained his feet, my father overcompensated by pulling to the right and we went flying in the opposite direction. The Winnie rocked violently back and forth barely able to stay upright. In my memory, Boston drivers were skidding everywhere to avoid being smashed by the giant Winnebago. Cars spun in circles, ground to a halt, and hurtled onto the shoulder in our wake. Inside the Winnie, once we recovered a balanced position on the road, my dad was yelling about the shoe and the missed tunnel and the narrow Bostonian roads. The rest of us sat numbly at the table, surrounded by dinnerware, the Let's Go book in the door well as if trying to get out. What he liked about the military was its rationality. A book of codes and conduct existed for every possible situation, leaving little room for hesitation. Whites were worn in certain months; khakis in the others. Orders were given not discussed, the commanding officer shouldering both praise and blame. At home, such clarity of operation did not exist. Though he tried to explain to his daughter how emotional responses clouded her ability to act, how she must develop a thicker skin if she wanted to succeed, every evening seemed to end in a hailstorm of tears. He worried that his children had not developed a strong enough work ethic and knew that they would never have the pedigree that allowed some to excel even without talent. Once, when a neighbor had offered his children the opportunity to rake his yard for payment, his son and daughter had, in front 201 |
