Posted by Monika Merola on January 22, 2010:

Once in every life There comes a time We walk out all alone And into the light of God. Our journey doesn't last, but then, We remember it again When we close our eyes and In our hearts and prayers. (Adapted from a song - "Because We Believe" by Andrea Bocelli) My father was my teacher and I want to tell you something about his journey. He taught me how to drive. He purchased his first car, a Ford Fairlane, upon graduation from West Point. He debated with my mother over the extras and finally settled on a heater and a radio. They would need those things in Germany. After two years, they bought an Austin Healy sports car and they sold it before coming back to the US and bought a German Tonus, which was a boxy kind of station wagon that never started correctly. My very first memory, aged 3, is of him driving up to a new quarters on Post and him saying, "Here's your new house, everybody out." My parents had three children then and one on the way. I remember moving many times, and going to many family events and my Daddy driving us endless miles in all kinds of weather. He took us to many wonderful places like the beach, New York City, Williamsburg, Cape Cod and Disneyland. There were breakdowns, bathroom breaks and arguments in the car, "She's looking at me." There were picnics with the back dropped down. Imagine 16 slices of bread, Miracle Whip, mustard, meat, cheese, lettuce, pickles, salt and pepper, fruit, chips, cookies, and Kool-Aid, all made at a rest stop in Georgia, Alabama, North Carolina, New York, Delaware, Pennsylvania, Texas or any state in between. Daddy customized the inside of one car with a wooden bench on the floor-board of the passenger seat so we could put our books under it and keep our feet up to read or sleep. It probably wouldn't be safe to do that now. He loved the radio and would crank it up so we could hear the music and dance in the seats and he would tap out the rhythm on the steering wheel with his ring. He'd say, "Listen to that beat. Hear those words." It was always rock and roll. He was so cool and loved the Beatles, Rolling Stones, the Monkees, Bread, the Supremes and Chubby Checker to name just a few. In his later years, he studied Benny Goodman, and had at least 50 CD's of his music. He said it was the music of his youth and one always returns to that. He drove us to mass each and every Sunday he was home. He would sit us all in the front row and have us discuss the readings and the homily on the way home, although all we really wanted was the candy reward for being well behaved in church and not talking or touching one another. After church, we would often stop and pick berries or peanuts in our Sunday best. When I was 15, I got a driving permit through school, but Daddy took me out for driving lessons. He taught me calmly without grabbing the wheel or stepping on the brake. He told me to know where my wheels were and to feel the car and the road. He taught me to avoid the obstacles in our path like potholes and debris so as to have a smoother ride. I was to stay in my own lane and watch for other less observant, OK "stupid" drivers so I could prevent an accident. He taught me how to maintain a car with proper fluids, air pressure and to keep it clean. He wasn't big on doing brake jobs in the driveway. He wasn't trained for it and other people did it better and faster than he, so it was money well spent. He knew his limitations. He was an aggressive driver. When he received a ticket he pled not guilty and won. He always had a carefully thought out presentation with a logical examination of scientific aspects of the policeman's exact position and the quality of the wavelength of the radar gun. Mommy always felt safe under his care. When she went to the store, he would wait in the car and either cruise the lot pinpointing the exact moment she came out of the door to be there the precise second she stepped to the curb to be escorted home. When I graduated from college at age 21, he presented me with my first car, a used Buick Regal, blue with a white soft vinyl roof that sat six Comfortably. It had a radio, AM/FM radio, a heater and air conditioning. It was safe and lasted me all through medical school. It got 15 miles to the gallon when gas was about 50 cents. It cost $25 dollars to fill up even then. Driving is a tremendous responsibility and is a physical as well as mental skill. Daddy possessed enormous mental abilities. I have been alone in their house when he and Mommy went to church and I checked out his chair by the TV. Lately, that's where he lived. On the side table were his glasses, cup, blood pressure cuff, and oxygen hose, as well as numerous books. He was studying Lincoln, the Civil War, the Bible, Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Origin of the Species. My father gave me more than just an education and a car. He gave me life and a set of moral and intellectual principles on how to live my life. My Daddy was a soldier and a technical writer. Recently, he was sick with chronic lymphocytic leukemia as a result of exposure to Agent Orange in Vietnam. He gave his life to serve God, his family and his country. He taught me all I need to know and I am proud to be his daughter.

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