Dads Say the Darnedest Things: The Back Seat

It's time for another story about Dear Old Dad.  This one goes way back.  Heck, I wasn't even born to tell you the truth.  As usual, everything that comes out of that man's mouth is pure gold from a comic standpoint.  This is some kind of a "warning story" or something that my dad always used to tell us girls as a cautionary tale.  Somehow, we were expected to learn from this lesson and apply it to our own lives.  Don't ask me why; it only makes sense in Dad-speak.

Let's set the scene here:  Uncle Dave, a recurring character here at "Dads Say the Darnedest Things" and Daddy were out for a night on the town with their cronies, Davey and Francis.  This took place in Toronto, but all four were from back home in Newfoundland.  It was the seventies.  You can just imagine what they must have been wearing: velour shirts and patterned bell-bottomed pants, gold chains with exposed chest hair.  Added to this was the style in which Daddy was then wearing his hair:  a flaming red white-boy afro.  Sexay!

Whenever drugs of any kind were mentioned, or if we spoke about routine traffic stops done by police to check for drunk driving, which around here are called "The Ride Program", this story would be rolled out and dusted off.

The boys were driving around in Davey's gremlin that night, presumably cruising for chicks.  Davey stopped off and got some beer, which they then proceeded to drink while they were cruising around the area of Toronto in which they lived.  This area, though considered rough even then, is now one of the most dangerous 'hoods in Toronto where no one would want to be seen at night.  They each had a beer, but Davey was having two for each one of theirs, all the while still cruising the neighbourhood.  What kind of lesson is this, Daddy?  Drinking and driving?  For shame!!!

Well it got worse, apparently.  Francis, who really always did love his ganja even later in life (or so I've heard), lit up a joint.  There they were driving around while Davey and Francis were passing the joint back and forth.  All of a sudden they come up to a Ride Program.  The driver was drunk, with a joint in his hand!  Daddy and Uncle Dave are in the backseat!  Cops are everywhere!

Cue the panic!

By some stupid twist of fate, they managed to get through the road block escaping the notice of the police officers.

The End.  Thud.  That's all.

This was apparently the end of the story.  Anti-climatic, no?  This is some important life lesson?  Where are the repercussions for your actions, and all that sort of thing?  We could never seem to figure out what it was that we were supposed to be learning from this experience.  It wasn't until years later when I was an adult and my dad was my friend that finally when he told that story again my sister and I looked at each other funny.  I said, "Daddy, as if you were just sitting innocently in the back seat!"

My sister thought for a minute and said, "Yes.  With your hands clasped in your laps like two little church boys!"

All three of us looked at one another and suddenly could not stop laughing.  For years, we had been missing the point!

Daddy nodded his head at me, grinned and said "See?  You didn't know your poor old father was cool, did you?"

In that moment, we finally realised what it was that we were supposed to have been learning all those years.  Yes.  

Our dear old dad...

At one time...

Was COOL.

Thank you Dad.  You've hit another right out of the park.