“When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around me. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years!”
– Mark Twain

To the editor:

Father’s Day is time to reflect on the influence your Dad had on your life and lessons learned. This lesson from my Pop was on the meaning of “too good to be true.”

Back in 1971, I was home from college for Thanksgiving. After the traditional feast and football games, I was providing my Dad with a censored version of college life and the pros and cons of living in a house off-campus with three brothers from different mothers.

He suddenly took out his wallet, which was the size of a Lilliputian phone book, rummaged around, and with a Houdini flair presented me with an ESSO gas credit card. He said, “Here, take this in case you get in a bind and need gas.” I respectively demurred, but he was insistent, so I shoved it in my wallet.

A few weeks later at 6 a.m. in frigid South Bend I went out to my trusty ’66 Mustang to head into work on campus. I was the student manager of the dining hall and had the less than coveted 6:30 breakfast shift.

Much to my chagrin, I realized that my pony’s gas gauge was lower than Nixon’s ethics. The night before I had lent the car to a housemate who promised to put in a buck’s worth of gas after he completed his research on local watering holes. Gas was then 36 cents a gallon. Six drafts of Bud at Corby’s bar was ninety cents. It wasn’t a close call.

It was payday and I had zero cash. Eureka! I had Dad’s credit card and the gas station was three blocks away. With a running start, I could coast there.

I wheeled into the station and jauntily said to the attendant “fill ’er up” and then produced the magic card. He looked at the card, looked at me, and said “Kid, this card expired two years ago.”

Serious negotiations commenced. I had to give him my class ring as collateral until I returned that afternoon with the cash.

That evening I called Dad and told the story. There was a pregnant pause and then a snicker before he said in his sage voice, “Son, you’re in college. Can’t you read?” Before I could digest the implications, he then said in a conspiratorial tone, “Your Mother need not know about this!”

Over the next few decades, I would broach the subject with him to ascertain if it was an honest mistake or sabotage. Never got a straight answer, but his smirk grew as the years transpired.

This Father’s Day hug your Dad. Or buy him a gas card. Or toast his memory with a lager.

Howard G. Sutton
Bristol

Mr. Sutton is publisher emeritus of The Providence Journal.