Birth of a crazy idea

Dad showed up for my 50th birthday with a card and two envelopes for a gift, which was not surprising. He's prone to highly engineered, envelope-driven gift-giving – a sequence of carefully crafted messages that have to be opened in a certain order and usually lead to an unexpected conclusion. (One year I was invited to the belch-fest that is his annual deer-hunting trip with his buddies. I'm pretty sure that was a six-envelope present.)

This year: one cards, two envelopes.

Let's recreate the drama.

The card opened with a quote from Pablo Picasso: It takes a very long time to become young.

Inside, from Dad, now 75, this message:

"I think I know what Picasso's driving at. At age 25, I'm sure I felt that I was old enough to take on the world – youth was behind me.

"As I got older, I think I began to realize that I was very fortunate to have the health I had, the family I had, the job I had, etc. When that realization became clear to me, I began to become young!

"Now, with Pat as my partner and you four children and your families and friends – with Pat's family and friends – I know what it's like to be young. My mind and body feel young because of you all.

"At the ripe age of 50, you are so involved with life that you may not appreciate how young you are becoming!"

The rest was mushy. You get the point. A great card, even by Dad's standards.

To get the rest, you need to know two things. First, Pat is my stepmother, and she does legal work for a living. Second, I've pined for a sports car (a Miata, to be specific) for so long that it's become a standing family joke. Every year I ask for a Miata, and every other year or so someone gives me one – a toy one, a couple inches long. The closest I've come to a real one was on my 40th birthday, when my extremely practical wife, Brenda, let me rent one for the weekend.

So I open the first envelope. Inside is an official legal document, notarized by Pat, and filled with four whereas-es, one declaration, three resolutions and four conditions.

Here's the clause that matters: "NOW THEREFORE BE IT DECLARED that, in pursuit of whatever fantastical dream of his choosing, there shall be established the Mark Travis Miata Dream Fund."

Inside the second envelope was a check, the initial deposit for the fund, with the promise of more to come annually if they could swing it. The first check alone wasn't nearly enough for a Miata, but it was sizable – more than enough, say, to buy a lot of venison.

I felt thrilled and guilty and grateful all at once, and didn't really know what to say. So I'll say it now: It was a great card and a great gift, and I'm going to try to make the most of it. I thank you and love you both!

As for how I got from a Miata to a Mustang, let alone a Mustang in need of resuscitation, I'll cover that another time.