THANKS, DAD
Jorge Rubio
I remember it as if it were yesterday: my first driving lesson, for which I had worked so
hard. I was one of 11 children raised in a three-bedroom house. We lived in one of Houston’s
bad areas of town filled with crime and drugs. Somehow, my parents knew that we were
individuals and had to learn things our own way. My brothers and I grew up learning everything
from cutting grass, repairing a roof, and everything in between. We were brought up believing
as my dad did: “Work like you live; nothing in life is easy, respect goes a long way, take pride
in your work, and ‘idle minds are the devil’s workshop.” Boy, did he keep us busy!
I remember my getting home from school and hearing, “Do your homework. Your dad
left a list of things he wants you to do,” Mom announced. How I hated hearing those words! It
was always yard work or repairing one of the ten rental houses they owned. All were fixer
uppers, so my brothers and I did all the fixing up.
One evening, when Dad arrived home from work in a new truck, I was surprised. He told
my mom that his truck had broken down, and he needed a new truck to haul supplies to repair the
house.
“Dad, where is the old truck?” I inquired.
“It broke down on the side of the road,” Dad answered.
“Are we going to fix it?” I asked.
“Too expensive, it needs to be overhauled,” he replied.
“I can fix it.” I stated.
He just looked at me; after all, I was only 16 years old. He did not know, or so I thought,
that I really liked that truck and always dreamed that one day I was going to drive it.
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My parents must have discussed the issue because the truck was towed home.
Dad called me over and said, “You want to fix it? Go ahead, but this is on top of your
other chores.”
He had talked to a mechanic friend of his and asked him to guide me on the repairs. I
was excited. There she was, a thing of beauty, a 1972 Ford pickup with a six-cylinder engine
and a three-speed transmission. I knew in my heart that the truck would be mine. I had to do a
good job.
The next day, right after school, I rode my bicycle to the auto parts store to buy a repair
manual.
I rode home quickly, only to hear, “Do your homework. Also, your dad left you one
thing he wants done,” Mom said.
I finished quickly because I wanted to start reading the
manual on overhauling an engine, so I would be prepared to repair the truck’s engine.
On Saturday, I woke early, ate my breakfast, and then ran outside toward the truck. My
dad’s friend had dropped off some tools I would need to remove and overhaul the engine. I
worked hard all day, removing and labeling the parts, just as the book instructed me to do.
Sunday, after church, it was back to the truck. During the week, I had little time to work on the
truck with homework and all the chores I had to do. However, on the weekends, I worked long
hours, sometimes late into the night. This was my routine for over a month. I had a few
setbacks, but I intended to finish the project.
The day had finally arrived, the day to turn the key and see if all my hard work had paid
off. I reviewed the details again. When I checked the points, fuel line, and carburetor, all were
adjusted and aligned just as the book had instructed and my dad’s friend had told me to do. I
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was nervous. Suddenly, when my dad and his friend pulled into the driveway, they walked over
and examined the engine.
“That looks too good to start up. If it runs as good as it looks it will run great,”
they remarked.
After my dad entered the truck and turned the key, it did not start.
My dad’s friend said, “The fuel needs to get to the carburetor.”
Then my dad turned the key again, and it started! I was so excited. It sounded so sweet.
While turning to me, smiling, he said, “Proud of you, son; now get in and show me you
can drive it.”
My heart raced even more because it was my first driving lesson in the truck that I had
overhauled. It was a moment I have never forgotten. I had always hated my dad and his way of
working hard and staying busy, but that day I learned I had to work hard for the things I want.
From then on, I listened to every word he said. He believed in me and taught me things I use till
this day. Now I do my own repairs on my house and cars.
I tell my children; “Work hard, believe in yourself, and have pride in your work.”
These are morals and ethics that should be passed on from generation to generation. I
look at today’s society and see people with too much time on their hands, so they become
ensnared in the devil’s workshop. Even some of my friends from the old neighborhood are in
jail, on drugs, or dead. I may have ended up that way if my dad had not kept me busy. All I can
say is “Thanks, Dad.”
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