garth brooks and mi padre.

The humid August air weaved its way through my tangled hair while my fingers created waves slicing in and out of the wind. It was a Monday. Or maybe a Tuesday; it could have been any day. I had spent too much time in the sun and the inevitable freckles scattered themselves across my cheeks and nose. I squinted at them in the dirty side mirror. I knew they weren’t going anywhere so I stuck my arm out a little further, the wind catching my breath in one giant gulp. With the wind whistling in my ear, it was hard to hear the song, so I slipped back into my seat and prepared for the chorus. My hand unconsciously balled into a fist and became my microphone. This was my time to shine.

The words to “Ain’t Going Down Til the Sun Comes Up” by Garth Brooks flooded the small car. It was an old song, but one I was embarrassed to say that I knew all the words to. The guitar was rearing up for the chorus and that’s when I looked over. Just a small glance, nothing more. But it was enough. His rough callused hands became drumsticks on the steering wheel and his leg pumped up and down with the rhythm. Today he was wearing his old high top sneakers with an especially nice pair of tube socks. His khaki shorts would have been fine if they had been at a normal length. He had gone for the dark red one today. He has exactly thirteen University of Louisville cardinals basketball shirts. Almost enough to last him two weeks, but today he settled with a dark red one that I had seen enough times to know that there was a small bleach stain near the left armpit and a permanent toothpaste leftover near the collar. He had a closet full of presentable clothes, but he wore this proudly. He called them his “boys” and sometimes I truly believed he was on the team. He would have been the center he always tells me. He doesn’t have a hat on today, and by the looks of his windblown hair, I knew that mine wouldn’t be too pleasant either.

In that one glance, this is what I saw. I saw his blue eyes squinting at the glaring sun or maybe from trying to hit a high note; I wasn’t quite sure. I saw the gap between his two front teeth as he sang “..ain’t givin’ in til they get enough…” right along with Garth. Right then I truly believed he could have made it in Nashville. With that one glance I saw a man that held my world. I’m not sure where we were headed or that it even mattered because there was no one else in the world, but us. Father and daughter. Garth Brooks and a backup singer.

As we raced down the interstate, fields of corn whipping by, our tone-deaf voices mingling with the summer air, I smiled at nothing in particular. The chorus began a second time and I stuck my arm out a little farther dipping it into the rushing wind. It could have been a Monday or a Tuesday, it could have been any day. But as I looked down at my own dirty converse sneakers and my own stained soccer jersey, I sang even louder “…goin ‘round the world in a pickup truuu-ck, ain’t goin’ down til the sun comes up…”.

It’s a good thing we thought were the next big things because on that day, we were the only ones who thought so. And to me, he was perfect and we deserved a record deal. Maybe it was a Thursday. Or maybe it was just the best day of my life.