The Hurricane and the Squeegee

My Dad Battled a Hurricane and Won

Have you ever seen your parents do something so weird that you later wonder how they even did it? Maybe you experienced something that, years later, you cannot even be sure really happened the way you remember it. This is a memory I am not sure how my dad pulled off.

I was twelve years old when we moved to Florida. We had been living in the Northeast, and one day my dad announced we were moving. My mom had sold everything she owned and bought a villa in Jupiter, Florida, and my dad had to follow her, of course.

They were not together at the time. They spent their lives in an on-again, off-again relationship. They never married. She was not our biological mother; however, she took the time to be our mom, so she will always be our mom. Anyway, she moved away, and Dad had to stay close to her. It’s a bit creepy in this day and age, but that conversation is not for today.

My dad graduated from college when I was in fifth grade. I finished fifth grade, and he finished his four years at the university.

When Mom said she was leaving the Northeast and its harsh winters for a milder climate, he packed us up and rented a moving trailer. I hate packing. I think I have done it so many times over the years that it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. My dad was a nomad his whole life. He never stayed put.

During the week of graduation, while he prepared for the ceremony, my sister and I packed up our home. Dad brought home the trailer and parked it backward in the parking spot in front of our apartment. He got out of his car, went to unhitch the trailer, and dropped the hitch on his foot, breaking several bones.

Yup, he walked the field at The Meadowlands Stadium with half his leg in a cast. It was funny, in a way, because his life was a series of mishaps, and this was no exception. They weren’t funny at the time, mind you, but years later you chuckle over the absurdities.

He graduated, and the next day we were leaving for a new state and a new chapter in the saga of our misadventures.

The Northeast doesn’t get very many summer storms. We certainly never experienced hurricanes. I am not sure I even knew what hurricanes were until after we began living in Florida. Well, that may not be true, actually.

We were driving into a hurricane. We didn’t know it at the time. Dad may have known something, but he often dismissed things he didn’t consider urgent.

By the time we reached the Carolinas, visibility was horrid. Winds were blowing at ungodly speeds, and the driving was so slow that I could have walked faster. But this was not the worst of it.

Somewhere in the Carolinas, the windshield wipers broke. Yes, you read that correctly. I don’t mean the blades broke or ripped off. A simple Walmart stop and back on the road fix. No. The actual mechanism that moves the arms across your windshield broke. We had to stop.

Dad had to figure something out. We didn’t have the money to stop at a hotel. The mechanic who looked at it when we stopped said it would take a few days to get the part, at a cost of a couple hundred dollars. If Dad couldn’t pay for a hotel, he certainly had nothing to pay for the part and its installation.

Dad did what he did best. He improvised. He bought a squeegee from a gas station.

What was that for? You might ask. I’ll tell you.

Dad bought two things. One was the squeegee, and the other was trash bags. He wrapped his leg in trash bags and sealed them around his knee. Then he started the car, rolled down the window, and began to drive. He took the squeegee in his left hand, gripping it tightly, stuck his arm out the window, and wiped the rain off the glass as we drove.

I seriously don’t know how he did it, how we survived it, or how long we drove like that. Was it hours, more than a day? I can’t remember that part anymore. But I never forget how soaked Dad was. I remember the strong, heavy winds pushing the Valiant this way and that as the hurricane or tropical storm, by then, fought against us.

He stopped a couple of times. How could he not? His left arm was sore from the constant tension and grip he had to maintain, and his right arm was sore from the tight grip on the steering wheel. I still can’t believe it sometimes.

We obviously survived it. I am here now, after all. But I don’t know how. All logic would say it was impossible, but it happened just that way. There is no force stronger than human drive, determination, and motivation. Not even a hurricane.

#Life #stories #true #inspirational #motivational

(Published by The Inner Catalyst on Medium, June 2026)