Dad

Sign seen in Meijer store while shopping for last minute items
 the day of my dad's visitation (10/23).  Dad had passed away
 on Friday 10/20/2017 at 11:30.  If he had a sign, this would be it.

"Let's see where this road goes"  A favorite saying of my dad when driving.  That saying led us to many things most kids didn't see.  The Y bridge in Zanesville Ohio.  Amish buggies in northeastern Ohio  (Holmes County area) and many more things.  As children, we probably saw most of the routes from Canton to Cincinnati within the confines of Route 30, I-77, I-70 and I-71.  Interesting tidbit: Dad never left the United States.  He said why leave the country when there is so much to see here.

This willingness of his to take an unfamiliar road has transferred to me.  It's allowed me to get around traffic jams since I'm willing to use my surroundings to know that I am still headed in the general direction that I need to go.  Yes, I'm sometimes wrong and end up taking a much longer route and probably taking more time that it would have to sit through the traffic jam however, I usually learn a new route and see one or more interesting things along the way.

This curious nature of his also led him to teach us the layout of the city streets in and around Cincinnati.  One Christmas season while I was volunteering in Norwood, I had to ask him to please take the same route to and from Norwood on any given day.  I was willing to see a new route the next time but I needed to see the same route from both directions to really cement it in my mind.

Knowing the basic layout of the city proved useful when I was taking him to therapy at Good Sam Hospital from Harrison.  Dixmyth/Martin Luther King Boulevard/ Hopple Street Viaduct was under construction so one afternoon when leaving the hospital and noticing that traffic was backed up, I simply turned onto a side street that would lead us through Clifton and Knowlton's Corner and West Fork and finally to  I-74 to get back to Harrison.  Along the way, he commented on streets that were no longer or were now dead ends.  And bridges that used to cross the valley before I-75 was constructed.  The man was a walking, talking history lesson.

This curiosity extended to other parts of his life.  It was never good enough to know how to do something, we also needed to know why it worked.  For example, if you asked dad the formula for finding the surface area of a cylinder, he would launch into a discussion of what did area mean.  And what information did you have that could lead you to the formula.  To this day, I do not remember the formula for the surface area of a cylinder, but in less than 30 seconds I can construct it.

He read slowly  (a trait not passed on to me).  And when he finished reading he understood and could explain what he read.  Sometimes, this methodical reading could make you crazy.  When my husband and I sold our house to my parents, my dad did not get advance copies of the documents to be signed at closing.  At closing, he read every word on every page.  While I understood the importance of him knowing what he was signing, it was making me crazy because I was losing time on a contract job.

Friends learned over the years, don't ask Dad a question unless you really want the full explanation.  Or as many people joked, begin your query with "In 25 words or less..."  We were talking about Dad during his final days and my children heard this explanation, it finally dawned on them why I do the same to them.

 So take the road less traveled, wonder about the things around you and enjoy the stories others tell.