When people ask me why I don’t drive, I don’t really have a concrete answer. Some people ask if I was traumatized by a car when I was young, or if my parents were really strict and prohibited me, or if I’m trying to be really green. But I guess the answer is that there’s always been an alternative option to driving myself, hence the lack of motivation to get my driver’s license. Growing up in the Philippines, public transportation was always readily available, and I did my fair share of walking, too. Then when I moved to America, my parents were always willing to drive me anywhere I needed to be. I’d like to take this time to commend them on their patience for waiting for me outside of school. Even though there have been many times where they had to wait in the parking lot later than expected because I’d be busy finishing something or didn’t want to end a conversation with a friend just yet, they never became discouraged to the idea of driving me everywhere. I’d like to think that it helps that other than for school, I didn’t really go to many other places that would disrupt their schedules.
So yes, for the majority of my life, I’ve been sitting pretty in the passenger seat watching the “telephone wires run and run.” And while both of my parents and some of my friends have driven me places, most of the time, the car that I was riding in was driven by my dad. This was because he scheduled his work times so that it would coincide with mine, so if there was a place I needed to go, he’d be available to take me.
Fun Home is one of my favorite shows of all time because it’s so honest and real, all while taking a creative approach to storytelling that was so perfect, it’s now the blue print for many new shows. The show is about the real life Alison Bechdel and her process of writing her graphic novel of the same name. As she’s writing the book, she has to remember and relive her coming of age, and coming out in a family built on internalized homophobia and lies due to her dad secretly being gay. She has a very strenuous relationship with him because of the denial of his and her sexuality. She always felt like he was more focused on his projects, his work, and his string of affairs that it’s only when she’s writing the story does she truly understand her father.
Like Alison, my dad was also a stranger to me, considering that I don’t really recall interacting with him before I went to America. Even then, he didn’t really talk to me much or play with me afterwards. Once, as a kid, I overheard the adults saying that my uncle was more like my dad because he was just better with kids, and better with me. But maybe I was just a stranger to him too. The one place where we could bond was when he would drive me places. He’d pick me up from school, we’d say hello, I’d switch the radio stations, and I’d stare out the window until we got to our destination. I think that’s where my ability to fuse the music I like into things happening in my daily life started. Without conversations, I’d create music videos and interviews in my head about the songs playing. The few words that would come out of either of our mouths would be to comment on the songs. He’d ask who the artist was, if I didn’t like a song when I switched stations, or to play something again. I’d do my best to comment further on his questions, but eventually we’d go back to being silent.
“My dad and I
were exactly alike.
My dad and I were
nothing alike.
My dad and I…”
“It All Comes
Back,”
Fun Home
I don’t know if I’d have wanted him to talk more, I never knew what to say to him. He’s not the person I would have deep conversations with or talk about what’s really going on in my life. It’s just small glimpses and light conversations you’d have with say a coworker.
When I was a teenager, I was full of anger at this relationship, especially when I would see other people with a meaningful relationship with two happy parents. I wanted him to be more than he was, because I saw so much of myself in him, parts of myself that I hate. Like the ability to be silent to your own thoughts and wishes and let others do all the talking, the appreciation of the paralyzing contentedness of how your life is, the constant dreaming about doing things but never making any steps to do them, the self destructiveness in their relationships with other people they actually loved. I feel like I’m stuck on the path of having his life, and I don’t want it. When I watch Fun Home and I watch Alison and Bruce’s interactions, I see this reflection with myself and my father. The love and the hate. The way you could only see things as they really were once the moment is gone.
I think my dad does what he can, and if he’s anything like me, then I understand. One of the main ways he shows that he loves me is through driving me places. Taking me where I want to go, letting me make the decisions for once. I realized this when he told me to sign up for a state ID, instead of pushing me to get my license, which, on the other hand, my mom has been pushing me to do since I was legally allowed to. I wondered if he was ready to do this for me for the rest of my life. I think his answer would be yes, at least until he was legally allowed to drive.
When thinking about getting my license, I’ve always been hit with dread at the pit of my stomach. I started studying for my license when I was 16 and got so overwhelmed I stopped and ignored it until now. I literally took all the papers and shoved them in the corner of my room where I would never see them.
Something did change in me this past summer that allowed me to revisit and work towards getting it again. First of all, as I’ve said in my previous post, staying at home with nothing to do has been making me super antsy. I want to go out and explore, but I have to do that while keeping in mind the schedule and preferences of people that can drive me. Share Ride apps are just too expensive. Secondly, there are so many things I could more easily get with my license. For example, to get a library card I’d have to bring three more documents than I would with my license. Finally, I think it is just time for me to do it. I feel excitement instead of fear at the prospect of driving.
In the 11 o’clock number of the show, Alison observes the last night she spent with her dad before his death, and finds herself taking the place of the teenage version of herself in a living memory. Here, she and her dad go on a drive around town, wanting to tell each other everything, but falling short. She screams at herself, and later him, to say something meaningful to each other before the ride ends, because once it’s done, so is their relationship with each other. There’s a desperation and a longing for similarity and connection in Alison’s voice that resonates so deeply in me. Driving for me truly is the one place my dad and I spend time together, and over time that desperation has faded. I think what we have now is as good as it’s going to get, and I’m not mad at it anymore. I’m ready to go off on my own and break the cycle. The fear has subsided and I’m ready to let go of that last bond between us in order to form new ones. I mean after all, who’s going to be the one teaching me to drive?
Defining Angelika 