We stayed with my mother over the holiday weekend, and memories of Dad were shared around the dinner table. Driving back to the house, I realized I forgot one of the best stories I remember from my childhood. Thought I’d share.
As a 13-year-old girl, my bedroom window was at the front of the house. One night, I woke up my parents and told them that a car’s headlights were shining in my window and I was scared. More like frantic. And paranoid. And I wanted Dad to protect me.
Dad got up, and reassured me it was probably nothing. He looked, waited, looked again, but no one was there. Dad tucked me back in bed, “tuck, tuck, tuck, tuck, tuck” he would say as he pushed the covers around my legs, and went back to sleep.
The next night, the same thing happened. Headlights were once again shining into my window. I could see them coast across the walls and stop at the center of my room. I woke Dad up again. Just like before, he checked things out, and found nothing. History repeated itself the very next night. I was about to be the only 13-year-old who slept between her parents.
Sure enough, my Dad realized he would have to get to the bottom of things. The next night, Dad sat silently in the dark garage, with the door UP, and waited. And waited. And waited some more.
The headlights returned.
Bravely, Dad hopped in his car and took off after this mystery vehicle, demanding to know who he was and what he was up to. The man’s response?
“I’m rolling newspapers. I’m just the paperboy.”