Thinking back through the seasons…to the fall…when I was a very young boy…it was my birthday.  The day had become evening…and we were…my mom…two sisters…and I…waiting for my father to return home from work…to have dinner in the little kitchen with the red vinyl booth…red laminate top…chrome base table. Two…red vinyl and chrome chairs…were reserved for my mother and father…while my sisters and I were…almost always…cozily seated in the booth.  It was not unusual for a child of the 1950’s…to sit…amongst parent and siblings for dinner…every night…every week…every year…unless there was reason or cause to alter tradition.

            This family ritual…was at times…not on the dot…as my father was a hard working…construction man…in business for himself along with his father…in these years.  Sewers and storm drains…were words most familiar at our dinner table.  And so the hands on the clock...would not always be in the same position…when the food was put upon the table.

            But on this night…it did not matter…for on this night…my birthday…something very special was about to happen.  I was very young then…but this night would remain in my memory forever.  Time seemed to have no relevance…this dinner time…when my father walked into the house…through the back door…and into the small kitchen of our two bedroom…dining and living room…one bath home.  His usual work demeanor…khaki work clothes…dusty…and sometimes mud covered work boots…along with the sunburned face of an eight to twelve hour work day…made the smell of earthen dirt and hard working sweat…familiar to the hugs my mother…sisters and I received.

            In my father’s hand…unusual…was a box…a gift…from my father to me.  If my father had ever brought a gift…he himself had taken a moment to buy…himself…for me…I cannot remember.  It was my mother who usually...and in the years to come…would shop for gifts. 

            I excitedly took this gift from my father’s hands…forgot about the nice wrapping…and with my small hands…made my way to discover the box within and its contents.   Inside of the box…was a car…yellow…a taxicab…a yellow taxicab.  Attached to the car by means of a long wire…at least the wire seemed long to me…at this time…at my age…was a small metal box with a red button…and a small steering wheel.  In these years…I do not remember…nor was I familiar with remote control.  These were still the years…of D cell batteries…batteries and wires.

            I now owned something of power…something given to me by my father…something that only he had chosen…to give to me.  When the red button was pushed the TAXI sign on top of the car would light up and the taxicab would move forward.  When the small steering wheel on the metal box was turned…the car would steer…just like a real one…left to right…right to left…and even make a circular turn.  I was overjoyed…loved my father for this gift…and never forgot it.

            I do not remember if all of us sat down…together…for dinner on this night.  There could have been a birthday cake…but again…nothing else seemed to matter at the moment.

            I do remember another time…a time when my father and mother got into a fight…arguing.  My mother packed a suitcase…grabbed my sisters and I…and called a yellow taxi…to take us to my great Aunt’s house…with tears in her eyes.

© 2007 Copyrights of John W Leko
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