“The first time I brought my boyfriend (now my husband) home from college, my old Bronco 2 stopped working in the middle of a snow storm on Interstate 90 in South Dakota. We were able to coast into a small town and a policeman showed us to a local church where we could stay for the night. It was midnight and we were three hours from home. I called my parents from the church phone to let them know that we were okay.
My dad showed up at the church three hours later in a full snowsuit, his face covered with a ski mask, holding a tow rope. Like a snow-ready Indiana Jones.That’s how he met Robb. He then attached the tow rope from my Bronco to his truck and had Robb sit in the Bronco to help steer it to the nearest Ford dealership an hour away—because god forbid you take your vehicle anywhere besides the dealership to get fixed.
I think about that night a lot. The three hour drive home, sitting next to my dad in his warm truck—neither guy would let me ride in the broken-down car—looking back at my boyfriend in the cold car behind us. The icy roads, the semi-trucks littered in ditches, the unwavering confidence I had in my father.
I wasn’t surprised when my dad showed up at the church. He isn’t the best at showing feelings or expressing himself or telling the people that he loves that he loves them. But he always shows up.”
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