Faded Jeans Living

Five seconds in my life.

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I’m heading north on I-25 toward Monument from Colorado Springs to meet my son and his girlfriend, Emily, for dinner. I’m driving my ’92 Cherokee, Lola, who is no longer a fan of interstates, along with me. But I know if I keep it at 65 mph, we should be okay. From a distance, Lola looks classic—sending vibes of built to last, simpler times, and a hint of adventure. As you get closer, you start seeing a ding here and there, some deep scratches, patch jobs, and paint starting to fade. The windshield has a crack across the bottom, and all the seals around the doors and windows are dry-rotted. Lola and I have a lot in common.

As we’re rambling along, I’m thinking of the last time I saw Bob. We’re in that weird stage where we don’t see each other that often. At 25, he’s been out of the house for quite some time and is busy creating and living his young life—as he should. The constant thoughts of Was I a good dad? Did I do enough? Did I show up? How bad did the divorce mess him up? Should I have gotten sober earlier? replay through my mind.

We pull off the interstate, and I park out on the street in front of the restaurant. Lola and I are not fans of parking lots.

I’m 15 minutes early, as usual, so I wait in my car. Bob texts that they hit bad traffic and will be 10 minutes late. Sitting there, I’m thinking, Will this guilt and anxiety ever stop? Will I be all awkward once again? I take deep breaths, repeating a mantra of I am love, I am loved, and send out love to them as I wait.

I’m not sure who suggested we sit outside—possibly Bob. I’m not a fan usually, but tonight it was a covered patio overlooking the mountains, with a nice warm breeze as the sun was setting. I glanced at Emily, and I could tell by her smile it jazzed her too.

During the meal, I initially noticed my usual nervous tendencies—trying to keep the conversation flowing by asking several questions—but suddenly something changed. I got asked how I was doing and what my plans were for retirement. Instead of rushing through the meal, time slowed, and we all just flowed. We took turns having what most people consider real conversations. For once, I wasn’t rushing, trying to leave as soon as possible, fearing I’d turn into a pumpkin.

As I was reaching for my wallet to pay—but before I could pull it out—Emily said, “We’ll split it.”

Not we’ll pay half and you pay the other half.

Not let’s divide it evenly three ways.

She meant we’ll split it—her and Bob together. They both pulled out their cards.

Each of them wanted to take part, to contribute.

I looked up, and for five seconds, there they were looking at me—both smiling, eyes bright, breaking through all my shit and holding my heart.

They were happy.

I was happy.

It’s as simple—and as beautiful—as that.

As I entered the on-ramp heading home, waves of goodness washed over me. Even Lola was riding smoother, enjoying the cool evening air.

In my heart, I understood—love never fails.

– Dwight