Personal Narrative: Changing The Oil In A Car

I was sitting in my grandfather’s dark house, sitting in front of my father’s big stereo with his huge gray Sony headphones listening to his Boys II Men cd. I feel a tap on my shoulder; I turn around and it’s my father. He said, “Come outside, dad’s going to teach you how to change the oil in the truck.” The first thing that came to my mind was why in the world would I want to learn how to change oil in a car. I am only 11 and I don’t have a car. My mom would always say “ Felicia before you were born your father wanted you to be a boy so he didn’t want to know the sex of the baby. He wanted to be surprised because he just knew you were going to be a boy.” I figured hey I guess this was the closest he would get so I always went a long with it. On top of that I was a tomboy so I guess it made it easier for him to ask me to come learn about something
He never corrected me or told me to slow down. It was as if he was proud and I took interest in something that he liked to do.

Every weekend when a thing calmed down and there wasn’t much left to do around the house my father and I would go for a car ride. He lived in Hereford, MD, which is very country with a ton of land, and he would drive all around the windy roads and talk to me about life and how I need to work hard to get to where I want to be in life. After everything he would always end his rants with, “ Felicia you don’t understand now, but you will when you get older.” I hated hearing that. I always knew that I understood him now, but I really didn’t.

Just the other day my father and I went for a ride. It wasn’t an intentional ride, but I was helping him move furniture. My father and I haven’t had a ride like this since I was about 14 years old. I am now 27. A lot has changed since our talks. Once again I caught myself trying to convince my father how I understand everything he is saying, but this time I truly did understand and he didn’t question my understanding