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One night, Chad Baxter heard a knock at the door and saw his mother standing in the hallway. In this listener-submitted 7 Minute Stories episode, Chad reflects on the man who raised him: early mornings riding home from the midnight shift, the smell of coffee and coveralls, lessons in the garage, and the complicated love between a father and son. A deeply personal story about memory, loss, and the quiet ways fathers live on through the lives of their children.
*Story by Chad Baxter
*Dive deeper into the 7MS Universe and connect with Aaron on...
The Team:
Story created & performed by: Aaron Calafato
Senior Audio Engineer: Ken Wendt
Additional vocals: Cori Calafato
Art: Pete Whitehead
Original Theme Music: thomas j. duke
Additional Soundscape Design: Isaac Gehring
TRANSCRIPT
Coveralls, Coffee, and What His Dad Left Behind
Submitted by Chad Baxter
So I’m going to tell a story about my dad. The man who helped raise me, and the man that I looked up to for the first 19 or 20 years of my life.
I’m going to start by going back to my childhood to paint a picture a little better.
At this particular time, my parents were divorced. My dad was living in my hometown, where my school was, and my mom was living with her mom until her house was ready.
So every morning around 5:00 AM, he would come pick me up after he got off the midnight shift. He’d be riding with a friend, generally carpooling, and he would lay me down in the backseat of that Oldsmobile car.
He propped my head up with the coveralls that he wore, and then he would cover me up with those old flannel jackets that a lot of dads wore back then.
The smell of it was just so safe to me. So secure.
It was steel, it was outside air, it was a little bit of coffee.
And as we’re driving down the road, we had the radio on and I could hear him and his buddy kind of going back and forth about their shift and how things went at work. I could hear the little rattle of the old green Stanley coffee mug.
And I just knew that I was safe with him.
I knew that he was taking care of me.
He did teach me a lot.
I remember in those hot summer days, he would be mowing outside and he would bring the mower up to the garage. I’d be playing basketball or getting on my slip and slide, but every time he went in that garage, I was right there with him.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
And he’d show me how he would top off the oil on the lawn mower, fuel up the gas, wipe everything down, get the putty knife and scrape off the under-decking where the blades were at. Getting the mower ready.
It’s just things like that that I remember.
Whenever he was cleaning the garage, he’d always say, “Leave your place a little bit cleaner than you found it.”
And I loved when he was focusing on something.
He was this big man, and he would be looking down at whatever he was trying to teach me. And you would hear that sound of him just being focused.
And I’m watching this. I’m learning from him.
And I’m thinking, this guy is amazing.
He’s the strongest man in the world. He’s the smartest man in the world.
That’s what I was thinking.
Then growing up more, playing sports — baseball, football, wrestling — he was there.
I remember wrestling. I’m looking at my opponent, thinking what he’s going to do and how I can counteract him.
And it would never fail.
I would hear that loud whistle sound that only dads could do, followed by:
“Get him, Chad!”
And I knew he was there.
I didn’t want to let him down. I wanted to show him how strong I was, because he was strong.
Football, baseball, I’d step up to the plate. It would be a battle between him and my mom about whose voice I was going to hear.
His voice was deep.
“Let’s go, Chad!”
That whole way of life happened up until I graduated.
Then he started falling off a little bit more and not coming around as much.
And that’s because he found a new love in alcohol.
It definitely bummed me out. I didn’t really quite understand the effects of it.
But I knew I didn’t have my dad anymore.
I met my wife and we started hanging out. I thought, you know what? I’m going to marry this girl.
Well, she kept asking about my dad, and I would come up with excuses.
“Oh, he’s working late.”
“Oh, he doesn’t feel well.”
“Oh, he’s going to be gone.”
I didn’t know how to tell her.
The man that I looked up to and the man that I loved… is an alcoholic.
And that’s when I had the first realization that I was ashamed of the man who I once loved so dearly.
Now, I still loved him.
But there was that part in me that I could not get past. And I wanted him to be better.
He fought it for a long time.
My wife and I ended up getting married, and I made him a grandfather two different times.
Sometimes he would come around. Sometimes he would ask to see the kids.
But when I was talking to him, he was slurring his words.
And I didn’t want to show my kids, “This is your grandpa.”
So he called me up one day and he said,
“Chad, I’m getting this overwhelming feeling that I don’t want to drink anymore. Every time I pour the whiskey or pop the bottle, I don’t like it.”
And I said, “Dad, my daughters pray for you every single night. Like clockwork at bedtime prayers. They pray for you.
‘Please help Papa Baxter stop drinking. I want to see Papa Baxter more.’”
That helped for a little bit.
It really did.
But the summer of 2017, it was a Saturday night.
I took my daughters to a daddy-daughter dance, and it was fun. It was filled with love and laughter and memories and dancing.
I go back home to the apartment and my sister-in-law’s there with my wife.
I’m telling them all about the event. “These are my babies. I love my girls.”
I’m just being a dad.
My wife is pregnant with our third. I’m excited. I’m on top of the world.
I go to bed around 2:30 or 3:00 that morning and I lay down.
Then I hear my sister-in-law at the end of my bed saying,
“Chad… Chad…”
I’m startled. It’s dark, it’s late, I’ve probably been asleep for two hours.
“I think your mom and stepdad are here.”
I’m like, “Why would they be here?”
So I get out of bed and I go to the front door of the apartment.
I look through the peephole and I see my mom standing there. She’s tapping her foot, her arms are folded, and she’s looking up at the ceiling.
I open the door.
“Mom, what’s wrong? Why are you here?”
She comes in and I remember looking up. My stepdad gave me this look.
And I didn’t hear her fully, but all I heard was:
“Dad died.”
I thought it was her dad. He was 90 years old.
So I’m holding her tight.
Then she stops. She pushes away from my hug and puts her hands on my shoulders.
With those tear-filled eyes she says,
“No, Chad… not my dad.”
And that’s when I knew.
My dad was gone.
The man who I loved.
The man who I looked up to.
The man who made me the man I am today.
He was gone.
I look back at that and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t hear his voice.
That I don’t smell those coveralls.
That I don’t imagine his face.
My boy just turned six this past week.
And every time I go in that garage, he’s there with me.
Every time I go outside to do yard work, he’s there.
Anytime that I get in the car to go to the store, he’s there.
He wants to be like his dad.
Just the way I was like my dad.
I love you, Dad.
