A close look at the moment the keys change hands, the classic car gleaming beside them.
After earning a master’s degree at the University of Arizona, I called my parents to tell them I was coming home to Columbus, Ohio. Walking around to classes and nearby restaurants was never a problem in Tucson. But now without a car there was no way that I could hold a job and get to shops and stores in a cow town that was so spread out. I was 29 and I never owned a car. I never needed one. In college I could walk everywhere. In graduate school in New York City, I could take a subway. Back in Columbus I walked to my jobs or took a bus. But finally I’d hit the wall on this transportation thing. And I sure didn’t have enough money to buy even a used car.
Well, my parents had a beautiful ’72 Cutlass Supreme that they were getting ready to trade in. They offered it to me, and I flew home to drive it back to Tucson. I stood in awe of this sleek, powerful car! As I was driving away from my parents’ house, driving back to Tucson, my father was standing in the middle of the street, his hands high in the air, waving them back and forth in a criss-cross fashion. In my rear view mirror, I saw my father waving. I don’t think he stopped till I was out of sight.
About thirty years later, my mother told me the story behind “the waving.” When my father was young, he left his home in Chicago to pursue graduate studies in Boston. Leaving Boston on a train, the 20th Century Limited (featured in “North by Northwest”), his father was waving his arms in the air, repeating, “Proud! Proud!” So the significance of the wave is obvious.
Thanks to the blue Cutlass, I was able to stay in Tucson where I’ve lived ever since, fully committing my life to Christ here, meeting my precious wife, and launching into a career in Christian-based counseling, pastoring, and worship leading.
But which was the greatest gift? The sleek, blue Cutlass Supreme or the good will and wishes of my father (and my mother) who loved me and always cheered me on? Both Wayne and I remember how often our dad would stand in the street as we drove away, waving his hands back and forth in the air. This happened a lot! I’m sure he was saying, “Proud! Proud!”, as he’d heard his father say to him many times. I have a feeling that the greater gift is the image of my father in my mind and the truth of how proud my father was of me.
Note: I eventually fixed the car up with new tires and other maintenance updates and gave it to a friend. One year later the car was totaled. The memories of my parents’ love and of “Proud!” are still intact.