Kelli Glascock

Course: English 101

Instructor: Ms. Amy Acosta

Assignment: Narrative

It was early spring, and the air felt crisp and clean, almost as if it had been renewed by the return of the birds and early buds forming on the flowers and trees. I was on my way out to see the first ground work being done in preparation for building our house. As I drove up to this flat, grassy acre of land, there was my Dad, already sitting high up on top of that big, yellow bulldozer peeling back the layers of grass like he was peeling an onion. My kids were watching in amazement because, unlike me, this was their first experience watching “Paw-Paw Kelly” work the ground with the bulldozer, as if he were an artist painting a masterpiece.

As we approached my Dad, he stopped and crawled down from his seat and stood on the massive tracks that were covered in dirt and grass.

“Paw-Paw, ride me first!” shouted my five-year old daughter Olivia, as she ran towards him and this yellow monster.

“Well, come on,” replied my Dad, grinning from ear to ear. “Paw-Paw will let you help me drive.”

As I helped her climb up, I remembered the excitement I would feel as a child riding beside my Dad on that bulldozer. The memories I often recalled did not have my Dad in them. He had been a sporadic part of my life after my parents divorced, when I was only nine. As I backed up to watch Olivia have her turn riding with Paw-Paw, I suddenly found myself lost in a memory I had long forgotten.

It was just after daylight, as we were walking into the woods, heading to the area my Dad was bulldozing. I was about eleven years old and completely thrilled to be spending a whole Saturday with just my Dad. I was carrying his thermos, full of coffee, of course, and holding his hand as we weaved in and out of the trees and brush, making the half-mile walk to where he had been working for several days. Suddenly there it was, like a child waiting patiently for his parents to pick him up. The sun was breaking through the trees shining down on the bulldozer, which was glistening from the morning dew. As I came closer, I stared up at this massive piece of machinery that towered over me like a giant. The tracks alone were taller than I was at the time.

“I want you to grab onto that pole when I lift you up,” said my Dad, as he began hoisting me up to the top of the tracks.

“Ok, but don’t let me fall,” I replied, with a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Don’t worry, I’m right here,” he replied back, with assurance.

Once we were both situated, my Dad in the driver’s seat and myself perched on the metal, dirty platform beside him, he turned the key to start it up. The loud rumbling of the engine echoed throughout the woods, which had been silent except for a few birds chirping and the wind rustling some leaves. Black smoke began to escape from the smoke stack, and the vibration made my entire body shake. I watched as my Dad shifted the gears and raised and lowered the bucket with such ease. It was very apparent to me, even as a child, that this is where he felt at home.

For the next six hours, I felt completely in sync with my Dad. As I hung on for dear life, he manipulated the bulldozer backwards and forwards, moving trees and brush from where they existed into large piles at the edge of the clearing. The air was filled with the smell of freshly turned dirt and tree bark, with the occasional sweetness of honeysuckle. I don’t believe I had ever felt so close to my Dad before this moment. It was as though he had allowed me the privilege of entering this secret world, where he was the king. The bulldozer went where he directed it, and he made puzzling decisions of what stayed and what did not, with such precision.

On the way home that evening, I remember sitting up very proudly in the seat next to him and thinking, “Wow! This is my Dad!”

Our contact with one another was not very often for many years after that day. The memories I often thought of did not include him, because he wasn’t there to share the majority of those special moments in my childhood and teenage years. As I became an adult, I began to have a more constant relationship with my Dad. When it came time to build our house, I knew exactly who would do all of the ground and dirt work, without question.

After my three children each had a turn riding on the bulldozer with “Paw-Paw Kelly,” I began getting us ready to leave, when I heard my Dad calling out to me,

“Kel, don’t you want your turn?! Climb on up and I might even let you drive!”

Immediately I felt that familiar excitement building up within me as I climbed the tracks to take my seat next to, the “King of the Bulldozer.”

For the first time, in a very long time, I knew it was all right to say, “Daddy I’m ready,” and to sit proudly beside him again.

Instructor Comments: Kelli’s paper is well written and artful in organization, the narrative moving deftly between past and present. Moreover, through her sophisticated use of sustained metaphor, she shows how, with careful excavation, we can uncover what we once lost.