Alton Carroll Goldsmith

I do not have enough memories of my father, Alton Goldsmith, who passed away on June 10th of this year. However there is a memory that will forever and always be held in my heart as one of the greatest days of my life.

In the early 2000s, the summer before I turned fifteen, my dad took me and my younger brother out for a drive. He had recently purchased a 1968 GMC pickup truck. It was his most prized possession.

These drives were a common weekend occurrence. Whenever the weather was beautiful, like it was on that day, the three of us would get in the truck and go for a drive through the quiet backroads of Western Washington.

Only a few minutes into this drive, however, my dad stopped the car. He turned to me and asked, “Do you wanna drive?”

I was stunned. Next to me, my brother was wearing the smug grin that told me that this had been planned, and he was in on this from the beginning.

I said yes immediately, and we got out and switched places. My dad was now in the middle, and I was sitting behind the wheel.

The steering wheel was thin and I gripped it tight. I turned the car on and put my foot on the pedal. It was heavier than I thought it would be, and even though I understood how cars worked, I was still surprised when the truck moved forward.

As I drove us slowly down the back roads, I sat up as straight as I could, using every inch of my barely 5’0 in height. I checked the road, the mirrors, the street signs, and back again. I was terrified and proud, knowing my dad trusted me enough to handle this.

Before long, my back was soaked with sweat, I was smiling wide and shaking slightly at the same time. My dad sat beside me, quietly muttering instructions. When to turn. When to break. Cool as anything. It took a lot to rattle Alton Goldsmith.

His truck feels different now, without him. But the seats are the same. The steering wheel is the same. The pedals are just as heavy and I, unfortunately, am the same barely 5’0 tall as I was back then.

Every time I get behind the wheel of that truck now, I will think of my father, and of that beautiful summer day. I will think of the way he smiled as I drove down the road, and the way he trusted that no matter what, I would be okay.

Thank you, Dad. I’ll take good care of the truck for you.