Narrative techniques and approaches in storytelling

Narrative will never forget the day I saw my parent's relationship for the first time. My father and I were planning a fishing trip since I was home for a few weeks during the summer. We hadn't been fishing for years and it turned out that we needed everything from fishing line to lures. It was on the way to he discount store in that old beat up truck with no air conditioner with only an a.m. radio that I came to know the people I call mom and dad.

We got a late start that morning and the sun had been out for several hours. The old truck was hardly worth the money it cost to put gas in it but my dad would drive a car until it literally fell apart. The passenger window would not work and that was good enough since the truck had no air conditioner. The seat was peeling from years of wear and weather. As soon as I sat down, I could smell the mold that must have been growing for years. Dust lifted from somewhere and I found myself wiping it from my face.

Dad slid in behind the wheel and started the truck. It still backfired and it still took about three tries to get it started. Finally, we were off. The wavy road in the distance foretold the forecast and I wondered why we would even want to go fishing in such hot weather. But it was my dad and I needed to spend some time with him while I could.

Driving down the street in the small rural town, we could hardly hear each other with the wind whipping in from the open windows. After mindless talk about school, work, weather, racing, and health, we ran out of things to talk about. My dad was a man of few words. He rarely said much and when he did speak, he kept his voice low and calm. He reached down and turned the radio on. We listened for a moment and suddenly my dad started screaming.

You fool!" he screamed, looking directly at the dirty, smudged radio in the dusty dashboard.

I was taken aback for a moment. I tried not to act shocked and listened for a moment. The voice was one that everyone in the country recognizes, Rush Limbaugh, and the amazing this is that while I knew the voice, I could hardly make out the words that he was saying. I was straining to even pick up a few words to hear what he was talking about so I wondered how my dad could hear him. I heard something about the economy, budgets, and spending. Nothing really divisive that I could figure but I could only pick up on every third or fourth word.

You idiot!" my dad burst out.

A didn't know what to say so I just sat there looking straight ahead.

Can you believe this guy?" he asked me, pointing to the radio.

I can't really hear him," I said.

Damn fool," my father popped off.

Political topics were not something my father and I discussed. I don't know why; we just never got around to it. I always thought my dad didn't care much about politics. However, in the truck, driving to the store, he was livid.

What's he talking about?" I asked, almost fearfully.

Who the hell cares? What does it matter? He don't know nothing," my dad spit out at me.

Okay, let's just turned it off," I said, reaching for the radio.

You like that guy? You think he's so smart?' he snapped.

Uh, no, dad. But we don't have to listen to it if it's going to get you upset," I told him.

You gonna listen to that guy and suddenly get smart and decide you know more than anybody else?" he looked at me. His face was red and his eyes were big and almost frightening.

No, dad. Let's just not listen if you don't' like him."

So you like him? You think he knows everything?" Again, my dad was raising his voice. His eyes were looking ahead while he was driving. His hands gripped the old steering wheel and his posture was perfect as he seemed to be sitting on the edge of the seat, ready for a fight.

No, dad. Let's just not listen to him or talk about it and get the fishing gear."

He's a fool and your poor mama's a fool, too. She listened to that guy and that's when she got in her head that she wanted to work and make her own money and buy her own clothes. She started working and stopped cooking and cleaning and taking care of the house. Forget the stove, let's just use the microwave, she tells me. Why, all hell broke loose because of that idiot on the radio!" sat next to my father on the crinkled old bench seat while we waited at a stoplight with the smell of tar stinging my nose. My mind tried to put together the pieces of the puzzle my dad had just thrown out.