Since it’s 100 degrees plus in NYC today (and my birthday), this story I wrote awhile back felt appropriate to reprint here:

You can’t fault parents for taking their kids on a cross-country summer road trip. You can start questioning their judgment when they take the southern route. In August. In a car without air conditioning. Should you ever find yourself in a similar situation, here’s a handy how-to guide on mobile pet-care.

Step 1: Get Yourself a Pet

After many sweltering hours on the road in our brand new 1980 Rabbit Diesel (with a lusty 48hp under the hood), relief was in sight as we’d soon reach my uncle’s place in Phoenix. It was my official “birthday month” and since we’d already stopped at the homes of four relatives, this was to be celebration #5 of my eighth birthday. But this one was different. Why? Because I got the coolest present yet: a light-green lizard plus a bag of live wax worms to feed it.

The little guy came complete with a clear plastic carrying case featuring rocks, a fake log, a spray-bottle, and some advice. My uncle said: “It’s gonna be hot in that box during your car trip, so spray him with lots of water.” I listened to his words of wisdom as I stared intently at my living gift, my finger jammed securely up my nose.

Step 2: Love That Pet Like No Other

“Dad, can I spritz my lizard?” I asked as we headed west out of Phoenix. “Sure,” he replied, happily tapping his fingers on the wheel. Traffic was moving smoothly, my mom was in front deciphering the TripTik map, my brother was in back memorizing the latest Archie & The Jugheads comic. This was a happy time in our speeding silver family capsule. How content Mr. Lizard looked in his box—despite it hovering around 120ºF in there—his green skin glistening with water, his little eyes smiling.

Our destination that day was the AAA-rated, and air-conditioned, Motel Quartzsite in western Arizona, 150 miles east of California. Upon arrival, I took my lizard into the bathroom to give him his wax worm dinner and we heard some funny noises through the wall. We investigated through a peephole; in the adjacent room were two nude people on the bed making strange noises, crawling around on each other. Weird, I thought, and went back to feeding my lizard. I pointed out the funny business going on through the peephole to my father who then strode straight across the parking lot to reception to change our room. A letter would be written to AAA.

Step 3: Attend to Your Pet’s Needs

The next morning, after a few more hundred miles of scorching pavement, dad was at his worst. We’d just run into major construction traffic that was putting us behind schedule to reach L.A. He was a tightly wound driver as a rule, even with one Sunday driver around…much less the thousands motoring along with us that day. During these ’sub-optimal stretches’ he’d often reach back and pinch our legs when we were being loud and obnoxious. By Rancho Cucamonga our legs had been pinched plenty, and Mr. Lizard was looking seriously depleted under his little log. He was beseeching me to spray with reckless abandon. I replied in wordless conversation, “But Dad’s in such a crappy mood, if I make any noise it’ll totally set him off!”

“I’m burning up in here, Todd,” cried the lizard, “Besides, the spray-bottle only makes a tiny whisper of a sound.”

Step 4: Go That Extra Mile for Your Pet

No longer able to bear the silent cries of Mr. Lizard, I asked ever-so-meekly: “Dad, can I spritz my lizard?” imploring him via the rear view mirror with my most puppy-dog look. After a moment of stony silence, he closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and replied, “No, you cannot.” All sound was sucked out of our nuclear family projectile. My mother, brother and I knew it was useless to contradict him. My lizard gave me a sad, resigned look, knowing I’d tried my best. When we rolled up to my aunt’s house in Costa Mesa, my lizard had funny black smudges under his eyes, and his fragile, miniature ribcage wasn’t moving. My birthday gift was dead.

Step 5: Remember Your Pet Fondly

I never understood why I even asked permission to spritz, as my dad would never have known (I think it was because when he got that keyed up we did everything we could to keep him from going nuclear). But Mr. Lizard did live on, in a way, for the next 25 years until my father’s passing. Whenever I wanted something from him and felt it necessary to break out the heavy firepower, I’d quietly ask, “Dad, can I spritz my lizard?” His face would soften, his eyes would grow sad, and he’d say guiltily, “Of course you can, son.”

The oddly scented candle at the right got me thinking about foods my dad loved. (And yes, the candle is onion-scented.)

White Castle held a significantly high spot on my father’s menu of favorites. Growing up in the midwest, we were never much farther than a few miles from a Slider outpost. At the nearest location, the Castle was experimenting with a futuristic drive-thru food delivery system called the “Vittle-Veyor.” Instead of driving up and dealing face-to-face with a person, the food traveled on a conveyor belt over your car to be dropped down by the driver’s side window. (It’s easy to see why this complicated system never really took off.)

Another favorite food of my dad’s was Downey’s Kettle Cooked potato chips, which I must admit are damned good. Many was the bag that fell victim to his after-work snacking benders.

Other favorites included Chicken and Biscuits (his mother’s recipe), yorkshire pudding, and chili. He used to make all sorts of chili: five-alarm, venison, meat only, but mostly a classic version with beef and beans. All of which made for some serious “Blazing Saddles” moments around the house (it should come as no surprise that this was his favorite movie).

What were/are some of the foods your dad loved that now you love?

My father used to rock the Mercedes-Benzos when he got into his 50s. My brother and I welcomed these Germans as they were a marked improvement over the American series of embarassing family automobiles (the Cadillac Brougham, Mercury Grand Marquis and the like). He went through a couple of used 300SD Turbo Diesels similar to the one pictured here.

We could hear those clattering beasts coming from a mile away, which meant we knew he was going to be home from work at least a minute before he arrived.

He loved those Teutonic tanks. Even used, he felt they were a real status symbol: like he had finally arrived. He said more than once how he felt as though he owned the road and could drive however he wanted. Like he was above the law. Why? “Because it’s a Mercedes.”

This evening, my wife and I were hanging out in the blindingly lit intersection of 43rd Street and Broadway in Manhattan. I work in the advertising industry as a writer, and this is the first time my work has appeared on a Times Square billboard. It’s only fitting that the ad was for Mercedes-Benz.

As we looked up at the 22-story tall sign—in the midst of all the traffic and tourists streaming by—it somehow got supernaturally quiet for me. I said to my wife, “My dad would have loved this.”

What kind of car did/does your dad drive? Were there ones you loved/hated or most identified with him?

As an addendum to the post below, Band of Fathers contributor Mike Rehfus points you to a site called “My Parents Were Awesome.”

It shows how rad your parents’ lives were before you came along. For example, check out how awesome Frank, Jerry, and this group of friends were back-in-the-day.

You may have seen some print ads a while back for Canadian Club whiskey featuring the tagline, “Damn right your dad drank it.” I found this campaign somewhat thought-provoking because it spoke to how ‘cool’ our dads were before we came into the grainy, Polaroid picture. Our dads had loves, they had lives! Don’t we want our kids to know the same about us?

Similar to the dudes in the ads, my father rocked the ’stache for a good, long time (unironically). Perhaps the most killer piece in his wardrobe was a stylish “After Six” tuxedo from Valenti’s of Michigan (with such bespoke features as black velvet lapels and blue ruffled shirt). I’ve grown the mustache and worn the tux many times in honor of him–unfortunately, neither tactic resulted in ladies’ phone numbers.

But what distinguishing characteristics of time/place do we have in the early 2000s? How will our kids view us 25 years from now? Sad to say, but probably just as iPhoning, computing dads and not so much as “manly outdoorsman” (I speak for myself). So maybe it’s a wake-up call. For us to get out there and do things that our kids might someday consider “cool.”

To get back to the ads: there are a few unsavory things going on. Like your dad grinding on some chick on the dance flo’. That’s pretty porno, and not a fatherly image I want to dwell on for any significant amount of time.

That ‘creep factor’ has probably had an impact on the campaign’s efficacy. Because you might start thinking, “My dad was probably just as much of a jerk to the ladies as I was.” He probably told lots of women he’d call them back. Or said: “It’s not you, it’s me.” And that kind of bums me out because I saw him as a pretty nice guy.

While these ads are clever and entertaining, I guess I found myself thinking about them far too philosophically. Which is probably why I didn’t exactly run out to buy a bottle of Canadian Club.

What was your dad like back in the day? Are there any traits of his that you want to emulate or repudiate?

These ads were brought to us by the fine advertisin’ folks at Energy BBDO in Chicago.