text: The worn, creased paper is soft against the rough pads of my fingers. Growing up, I’ve watched my dad fold and unfold this mysterious form of directions more times than I can count. Some are born with a sense of direction, like my father. I was not. Flipping it one way and then another does little to help with which end goes up. The lines cross, circle and swirl, blend and divide, and a dull ache forms in my head from staring too long. Is that a road or a river? A buzz in my pocket signals an incoming text, reminding me how easy it would be to let Siri guide the way. This is dumb. The man who donated to my existence thinks every eighteen-year-old boy should learn the art of ‘finding your own path’. We met an hour ago at the edge of town for breakfast and to discuss the instructions. Basically, I’m to find the circled destination without the use of my phone, avoid the interstate, and only ask a stranger if I’m desperate. So far, so good. No phone and no desperation. My beater truck now idles by the side of the road as I contemplate the next turn. A gust of warm air blows in through the open window and pulls my gaze to the burbling creek outside. Last night’s heavy rain moves swiftly downstream without hesitation, sure to arrive at its intended end. I’m glad someone knows where they’re going. The broken rays of sunlight glimmer over the surface of the water and a squirrel munches nearby on his mid-morning snack. I hate to admit the scenery is quite invigorating, and there’s no way I would have taken the time to notice if using google for navigation. Bringing my focus back to the task at hand, my finger follows the winding blue line that expires in a lake. River then. Which means I must be on the black line beside it. Good to know. Next turn is left, but in exact miles I couldn’t say. I missed that left turn. Oddly enough, I don’t care. Another opportunity will present itself shortly and I’ve enjoyed following alongside the shaded, curvy riverbank. My normal drive consists of air blasting and radio blaring, but today I’m content to let the sights and sounds of nature permeate my soul. It reminds me of family road trips--dad behind the wheel, mom making a game out of everything, and my brother and I fighting in the back seat. One particular canoe trip stands out of us drifting down river, finding crawdads, fishing, swimming, lunch on a sandbar, and hiking through the woods. I can still hear my mother’s yelp when a water snake paid us a visit. My younger brother snatched it up and we carried the thing around for hours, much to mom’s dismay. When your parents believe memories are more important than gifts, you have a lot of fun stories to draw from. Half an hour later and I’ve left the river valley and wound upward to the top of a mountain. Deciding to stop at a scenic lookout, my lunch is spread out next to me on a bench, I stare out across the expanse of treetops and fields. A turkey sandwich never tasted so good, and I wonder if I’ll be able to replicate said sandwich next month when I’m off at school. Mom has made sure to teach me the basics and I can find my way around the kitchen, but is anything ever as good as when your mom makes it? Doubtful. Anyway, thanks to her I won’t starve. Or have dirty clothes. With lunch out of the way, I make quick study of the route ahead, trying to memorize road names and numbers. I’m thinking the state line is fairly close, and then another hour should do the trick. I’ll drive right under the bypass, but won’t cheat so as not to disappoint the man who raised me. Integrity has been ingrained since childhood and modeled without fail. I realize I’m fortunate in the parent department, even if they’re a tad overprotective for a teenagers liking. After one last gander over the terrain and a restorative intake of summer air, I shove everything in the truck and take off for the final leg of the journey. According to adults, most of life doesn’t go as planned, and the last two hours have been proof of that. A wrong turn, turnaround, construction, and an elderly-driver later, and I’m finally entering the town circled in red. I pull over in the nearest gas station and slide the phone from my pocket. Since entering the city limits, I now have permission to enter the exact coordinates of our meeting place and give my brain a much needed break. I love you Siri. The pin pops up within a few miles of my position, causing a satisfied smile to break out on my face. I’ll be darn. I did it. The predetermined address is not what I thought it would be. I expected a restaurant or something along those lines. My father is seated on his hood, drinking from a Styrofoam cup, and gives me a thumbs up as I park beside him. The engine sputters in indignation when I turn the key and the door rattles its protest to being opened and closed. She’s old, but served me well today. I shuffle over to dad’s Camry as he slides down to greet me. His cheekbones squish his eyes together from a goofy grin. “You made it. How was the trip?” “Fine.” The eyebrows hike in high arches. “Just fine?” I shrug and kick at the pavement. He deserves more than that but I’m not good with expressing myself. “Yeah, it was kinda cool. There was some sick scenery and I only got turned around a couple of times. How long have you been here?” “An hour. I took the interstate.” Of course he did. “Sorry you had to wait so long.” He pats my shoulder, a proud-papa gleam in his eye. “No worries. The black sludge they call coffee kept me company.” I glance around the lot and wonder again why this spot. “What are we doing here?” “You’ll be driving back and forth to college so your mom and I thought it was time for a more dependable vehicle.” Now it’s my eyebrows that climb my forehead. “Are you serious?” His laughter comes out in breaths through the nose. “You betcha. They have some used trucks you might want to start with, in great shape and low mileage. But we can look at whatever you want. Within reason.” “Wow, Dad...I don’t know what to say.” “Thank you is plenty. We’re proud of the young man you’ve become and can’t wait to see what the next chapter holds. I have all the faith you’ll do great things. Now come on, we’ve got some cars to browse.” He spins on his heel and starts to walk toward the row of used vehicles. Making strides to catch up, I grab his elbow. “Hey, Dad?” “Yes?” “Thank you.” He nods in understanding. At least I hope he gets it. The man has spent eighteen years of his life investing in mine with little to no interest or return. Maybe someday, somehow, I can show him how much his sacrifices have truly meant and be the man he’s taught me to be. That in and of itself is a tall order but will no doubt lead to a life well-lived, and I’m willing to give it a try. By Carol Spivey