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Traveling with my dad was pretty darn cool

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When I was a kid my dad would take me on three or four of his business trips every year.

He sold textile machinery all over New England, New York and Eastern Canada.

During one Christmas vacation he took me on a trip to Quebec City.

The first night we stayed in the four-unit Star Motel in Jackman, Maine. Even though he was on an expense account, my dad still liked to barter.

"Can you give me a better rate?" he calmly said after the proprietor asked for $10 for the night. We got it for $8.

That night we ate at the only diner in town, about 100 feet from the motel. When you were with my dad you could eat anything you wanted. My mom was a little stricter, but when you were with my dad, it was pretty much wide open.

I always got the same thing for lunch: cheeseburger, vanilla frappe and apple pie for dessert. I mean day after day after day. My mom would not have stood for that.

Sometimes we'd go into a diner (my dad loved diners) way out in some hick town in upstate New York and the waitress would say, "The usual, Mr. Thorp?" He'd nod and she'd bring him a big bowl of beef stew.

He knew which diner had the best beef stew, which had the best liver and onions and which had the best breakfast.

Needless to say, I liked traveling with my dad. Women seemed to take much more time getting ready for a trip, or for going out to eat.

With my dad, it was like you ready to go? Let's go. And we're out the door. You didn't have to worry about opening the door for someone, or being polite or nothing.

When he went into one of the textile mills where he had a sales call, I'd wait in the car listening to the radio, or take a short walk around the parking lot. Sometimes he'd be gone for a couple of hours, but I didn't care.

Afterward we'd go to a nice restaurant and then we'd get a nice motel or hotel room somewhere and watch TV. His favorite TV shows were anything with Bob Newhart and Benny Hill. You never heard him laugh the way he did watching Benny Hill.

In the car he liked to listen to radio talk shows. One time he let me play some music I liked, heard the Four Season play "Sherry" and grimaced.

"Sounds like a bunch of girls," he snorted.

Looking back on it, he was probably right, about a lot of things.

Happy Father's Day.

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