Chappie, Me and the Revolving Door

I don’t know how old I was, but I think at least 12. I remember the incident clearly and with too much detail for me to be much younger. I also remember being somewhat tall and wanting to look older.

For some reason, my dad, Chappie, was in charge of me. We were alone, in itself an oddity, and, as usual, we were not together. He was doing something, and I was doing something else, probably reading, when he called me downstairs. He hardly ever sought me out, not that we were at odds, but more that we just didn’t have much in common. When I got to him in the kitchen, he was standing by the table and seemed insecure or confused about something. He started to explain something to me, but it was lost on me what the hell it was. Finally, it dawned on me that he was telling me he was going to leave me alone and go to Manchester, which was about 30 minutes away.

Normally that would not have bothered me, being as I was a bit introverted and liked to spend long periods of my time reading in my room, but for some reason it seemed to be bothering him. On hindsight, I now think that he was “babysitting” me and didn’t want to upset my mother by leaving me alone. I think I was old enough to be alone, especially by the standards back then, but he seemed torn. I don’t know if I picked up on that or what, but I began to argue for him to take me with him. I could see he didn’t want to, but I could also see that he could be talked into it.  From the discussion I realized he was going to a bank to do some business, so maybe he didn’t want the distraction. But he was weakening, so I pressed on, not sure why. Any other time I would be fine alone at home, but for some reason I really wanted to go.

On the way to Manchester, he began to talk to me about what I should and shouldn’t do. Basically it came down to I shouldn’t do anything, say anything, touch anything, or look at anything. I had heard those rules before. Chappie was a great dad in many ways, but I tested his patience greatly and often, or at least I felt like I did. Older brother Ed was nearly perfect—intelligent, quiet, respectful and devout. Sister Dianne was kind of high maintenance, but she was his only daughter, and he loved her to distraction. Kevin was the baby—little and cute and quiet. 

I was the family screw-up. I admit it. And Dad was forever frustrated with me. I was mouthy, awkward and active, consistently getting myself into embarrassing situations. He routinely called me Jughead when I said or did something he considered stupid and I said and did those things a lot apparently. 

Anyway, on that day, his last and most memorable rule was, “Don’t do anything to embarrass me.”  I knew that provided the motivation for all of the other rules, and I remember being challenged a bit by it. It seemed to me I embarrassed him a lot. But I resolved to show him that I was capable of not embarrassing him at least this once.

So, we got to the bank, parked in the parking lot, and walked to the front entrance. It was a new bank, and I remember being impressed and a bit intimidated by its size and newness. As we approached the front revolving door, Dad turned to me and said, “Remember, don’t touch or say anything. Don’t do anything to embarrass me.” I nodded, determined to avoid doing anything, saying anything or embarrassing him in any way.

I now think that he might have been applying for a loan. I’m not sure about it, but this was more than a visit to put money into or take money out of an account. At any rate, he looked at me with a stern and worried look on his face, then quickly turned and walked into the open space created as the door revolved. 

Now, before then I had no experience with revolving doors, and to tell the truth, I had been looking it over as Dad was giving his last minute instructions. It seemed huge and heavy and a bit mysterious to me. But as Dad finished his instructions and strode forcefully toward the revolving door, I didn’t really have a plan on how to negotiate it. 

I had a split second to make a decision: do I follow him into the space or do I wait for the next space? The space seemed huge as it was open to the sidewalk. Perhaps fearful of embarrassing him by separating myself from him and maybe losing him somehow and becoming a total embarrassment to him, I leaped after him, just quickly enough to avoid being hit by one of the door’s now revolving partitions. 

Unfortunately, that left me with precious little room to maneuver so I had to all but climb onto my father’s back.  I put my arms on his shoulders and kind of hugged him to my body. I remember in slow motion how his head began to turn back to see what the hell I was doing just as the partition hit the back of my foot, all but stopping its revolution. 

Immediately, because Dad was now walking forward while trying to look back at me, the side of his head hit the now motionless partition in front of him and I crashed into his back, forcing him forward even more. The door’s partitions shook, and groaned, as dad push forward on them, causing them in turn to push forward on me, causing me to push forward onto him. Another person, one who was leaving the building, was caught on the other side and I heard some grunting and crashing going on over there as well.

Rather than stop, survey the situation and come to some logical solution, my Dad pushed harder and harder on the partition, and by inches we staggered forward, kind of bunny hopping into the building, ending with me being propelled forward against his back for a final time and falling to the floor. I looked up to see the most mortified expression on my Dad’s face, one of embarrassment, shame and confusion. I looked around the lobby and saw about 20 people frozen, looking at us.

I have absolutely zero recollections of anything that happened after that. Safe to say that it took me quite a while before I impressed my father enough for him to take me alone anywhere again, if he ever actually did.