I woke up at the Giddings Sands around 8. The journey was now different. It was this morning that I believe my Connecticut life ended and my Texas life began. I don’t know how I knew it, but I knew. I was out of the room, gassed up, coffee down, and hammered down toward the coastal bend.
La Grange. Yes, I drove through it. I also may have played the song while doing so. Texas looked relatively the same as it had until I arrived in Tivoli. The intercostal waterway began to permeate my life. As I moved south on 35, futures yet to come showed sites of incredible events. I wish I could say they will be good.
Rockport, Aransas Pass, left turn onto 361 then 8 miles out to the ferry landing. It was a hot late June Friday afternoon. I knew that when my ferry ride ended, I had no idea where to go after that. My Dad had no phone, and I had no address because everyone uses PO Boxes on the island. Was I just going to put myself in the middle of town and just start saying my Dad’s name?
When the ferry gate dropped and we drove off the little 9-car ferry, and as I drove onto Cotter St, Port Aransas exploded before my eyes. It was crowded and busy. It was flashy. The salt air was everywhere. The salt would become a permanent part of my life, in my clothes, my bed, my dreams. Everywhere.
I made a right turn onto Cut Off Road and followed that down until I found a 7-Eleven at the corner. I walked in and got a cold drink. It was really hot. While I was in there, I ran into a very short man, who was a pint-size David Caradine, with longer hair and a thin headband. His skin was very leathery and brown, but the thing that really caught my attention was he was wearing a blue City of Port A shirt. I guessed this would be the uniform that my Dad wears too. I introduced myself. He told me his name was Jimmy. He told me to follow him.
He first led me to 11th Street where Dad lived. He told me he did not see Dad’s car, so I followed him to the city maintenance shop. It was 12:35, and Dad would be back from lunch at 1. Jimmy talked and talked and talked and I could not understand but maybe 10% of what he was saying. It got to the point where it just got easier to nod my head and say yeah after he talked for a spell. I realized that was not the best practice when it was evident that I said yes to him asking if I would sell him my CAR! I had to backpedal on that. It was the longest 20 minutes of my life up to this point in my life.
Jimmy had told me that Dad’s car was loud and I was very happy when that loud 74 Chrysler Town and Country wagon came down the road. 5100 pounds plus a couple hundred worth of Port Aransas sand and salt. I heard the engine stop on the side of the building. Anticipation built within me as I knew he was walking toward the entry door of the shop. He walked in. He looked right at me. “You took my parking place,” he said. I was so happy to see him. He quickly explained to his boss that I just arrived and asked for the remainder of the day off.
It was June 29, 1984. I followed Dad over to his small cottage-style house that sits a stone’s throw away from the dune line of the county beach. After brief introductions to the animals, we each grabbed a cold Milwaukee’s Best (he promised me Lone Star on the phone!) and headed out to his 1974 yellow and wood grain Chrysler wagon. The car was a 5,100-pound monster. It’s heartbeat with a mean 440 cubic inch engine that could power an ocean liner. It was loud. There was little exhaust left on this car. But this was Port Aransas. Geographical hazard. The salt content in the air made me wonder if humans could possibly rust.
The car, in its day, was a beauty. Leather, power seats, cruise, motorized-self tuning radio, power windows, tilt, a/c, and size to beat all. Today it was an obscenity compared to its once magnificent self. The windows did not all work so some were down. Didn’t matter Dad told me. It hadn’t rained in Port A in months. The interior was now embedded with the sand and salt that is so much a part of life in Port A. I could feel its grit everywhere I touched and everywhere on me. The A/C in the Chrysler did not work. The salt air was blissfully hot. Dad sat next to me driving. I thought. Life will never be the same. My life has taken a different turn and I will be someone else.
Although I could see out the windshield, it was definitely carrying with it a glaze of salt. It amazed me how thoroughly this place can consume everything, including Dad. He looked so good. He had put on a little weight and it looked good on him. He was laid back. He of course was my Father. But as we drove down the beach, the hot Texas sea breeze breathing in through the left windows of the car, I knew that the twenty years between us were really not there. We were the best of friends. I knew it would be this way forever.
This afternoon, we drove down the beach. It was constantly hot, yet the sea breeze off the gulf was forgiving. There were girls and cars and I was eighteen. Dad and I were reunited. We had all the time in the world now.