Untarnished

It's nice to have someone to turn to when you're in a real pickle.

My whole life, my dad has been my Go To man.  He's pulled teeth, removed slivers and stitches, repaired toys, fixed cars and talked me through crises too many to number.  Happily, I'm married to a Go To man too...with a different set of expertise.  Between the two of them, I'm in good shape.

On Saturday evening, after a delightful day spent in the conviviality of my family, we were languishing on Marianne and Robert's back porch.  One of the invaluable features around there is the cool canyon breeze that flows down in the evening.  I (with some hesitation because I didn't want to miss anything) slipped away to my van for a jacket.

The van was locked.

Which is out of place because no one there locks their vehicles...or houses for that matter.  Also, the keys were in the ignition.

Which isn't so out of place there.  Growing up, that's where we kept the keys.  In the ignition.

Except for not with locked doors.

My darling son had taken the keys from my purse and listened to the ipod earlier with his cousin Clarissa.  He'd left the keys in the ignition.  And locked the doors.  He's darling like that.

Because it was a crisis, I went straight to my dad.  Ammon came to help (and loaned me a sweatshirt) too.  My dad said, "Do you have another set of keys?"

I said, "Yes.  800 miles away.  On Adam's keyring."

My dad said, "Cars are harder to break into than they used to be."

He and Ammon looked around.  Discussed the seals around the doors.  Ammon checked the sunroof.  Because he's tall like that and could look down and see it.

The van was impenetrable like Fort Knox.

The nearest locksmith was an hour away and it was a Saturday evening.  I was feeling a little panicky.  But only a little because my dad was on the case.

He told me he'd go home and get something to try.  He warned, "I'm not very confident though."

I couldn't help it.  I was still confident.

Because he's my dad.

A few minutes later, he was back with a long copper wire and a pair of pliers.  He'd made a tiny bend in the wire and guided it down inside the window until pop he'd hit the button and the doors were unlocked.

I grabbed the keys first and threw my arms around my dad second.

He's a hero.

My hero.

Later, when I'd parked my weary van at their house, my dad told me he'd drive it over behind a gate because his horse Andy likes to eat cars.  I said, "Horses eat cars?"  I grew up around horses and this was news.

"Some do. They're like goats."  (Later Tabor showed me bite marks all over his truck from Andy.  Weird.)

I handed over the keys for valet parking.  My dad brought them to me after he'd safely stowed the van.  "Keep those with you," he said with a smile.

And I thanked him.

And my lucky stars.  He's my dad.  My knight-in-shining-armor-hero.  Bright and luminous and saving the day.