I lived with my dad in Elkhart during my sophomore year of high school and spent chunks of several summers there. Somewhere along the way, we discovered that we had a serious weakness for Mexican food. First, it was El Toro- a true hole-in-the-wall with tacos de lengua marked by an upside-down lawnmower sign. Next was La Esperanza: it was the best food I’d ever eaten, and I finally made it back two decades later. 

My brain is packed to the brim with facts that come in handy for what I write about here: old schoolhouses, historic courthouses, flowing wells, and all the rest. Unfortunately, if there’s one glaring gap in that mental archive, it’s vintage blow mold Christmas decorations. I recently learned that the hard way.

My family is devastated. My stepdad, Jerry, passed away on Wednesday. It doesn’t feel real. The weight of it hasn’t fully settled, but it’s coming. I still can’t believe I’m writing this- we thought Jerry would be here forever.

My parents found themselves unexpectedly busy not too long ago and I was drafted into dog duty. It was time to take Eliza on a walk, so off we went down the long drive behind their neighborhood. I hadn’t been back there in years! Somewhere between the first few steps and the bridge at the end, the past came rushing back. 

My dad died fifteen years ago today. I’d been batting around writing something formal to mark the occasion, but trying to compress his life into something tidy would require several volumes, a legal team, and a slew of affidavits to verify the most unbelievable parts. Dad was a story, or a series of them; layered, contradictory, and enormous. I’m not the raconteur that he was, but I’ll give it a shot with one of my favorite memories.

There are a number ways to celebrate an important birthday. You could go out to dinner. You could buy a thoughtful gift. You could even play it safe with a tie. Or -if you’re a recently divorced family operating with five dollars, three kids, and an alarming amount of confidence- you could attempt to recreate early aviation history in the playground of an elementary school. Here’s how that turned out. 

I’ve loved Hot Wheels for as long as I can remember. Honestly, what kid doesn’t? Lately, I’ve rediscovered the YouTube channel baremetalHW, where battered old die-cast cars -Hot Wheels Redlines, Matchbox, Johnny Lightning, and even more obscure brands like Siku and Corgi- are carefully restored back to life. Watching those tiny survivors get a second chance has stirred up a few die-cast memories of my own. Here’s one of them.