The First Harley Trip, 2014 Part 12: Back to Dad’s

The First Harley Trip, 2014

Part 12:  Back to Dad’s

"True Freedom: You have a motorcycle, a full tank of gas, $50 bucks in your pocket, and nothing but an open road."  ....Michael Wade meme

          Leaving Barb and Tina that afternoon, I headed south to my dad’s and Peggy’s house. Hotrod was also on his way there. We both knew that dad was not doing all that well and we needed to get a better idea of his condition and what it was that we could do to help Peggy in the future. We both arrived later that afternoon.

          It had been a long time since the three of us had all been together at the same time. I know dad was happy to have his sons with him.

          Peggy brought out some of our childhood pictures for us to look at and enjoy. Of particular interest was one picture of my dad as a newborn being held by his mother. The picture was taken in some shithole hollow probably in Clinchmore, Tennessee. I assume the shack in the background was where they lived at the time.

My dad and grandmother

While the picture was very grainy and nearly impossible to see any clear facial features, it was the first time I’ve ever seen a picture of my grandmother and perhaps the only picture of her that exists. At least I have a bit of an idea of how she looked. Sadly, I never got to meet her because she was killed in an automobile accident when my dad was a child. I know next to nothing about my grandmother other than, according to my dad, her name was Blanca “Bessie” Doan, of Spanish descent.

          Another picture that Peggy showed us was an old black and white photo of a baby in a baby-buggy taken on Sept. 12, 1954, exactly 2 years before my birthdate. On the back of the picture read, “Sept, 12, 1954,  Love always, Herold Ziegler.”

Herold Ziegler, Sept, 12, 1954

I had seen the picture once before in July of 1978 when I learned of the significance. The child in this photo was somewhat of an unspoken family secret that always lingered in the back of my mind. Herold Ziegler, a German, is my brother. Half-brother to be exact. Before meeting my mother, and while my dad was serving in the US Army in Germany, my dad and his German girlfriend had a child together, Herold Ziegler. I don’t know the details of why they never married or to what extent, if any, they kept in touch with one another after my dad returned to America. I don’t know if my dad ever even met Herold. It was all kept a secret. Since seeing the picture, I have tried to find Herold Ziegler with no success. I went to Germany in 2016 and tried to find him, and again, nothing. Google searches, Ancestry.com, public records, and everything I can consider has had zero luck. I’ve even set up a website called “Searching For Herold Ziegler” at Heroldziegler.com. As of today, nothing. Hopefully, someday, we’ll meet.

          The visit with my dad went well. Mark, aka Hotrod, and I spent two nights there. We were able to get him a hearing aid of sort so that he could listen to the TV without having the volume on full blast 24/7. Peggy, I’m sure, was glad of that. I can only imagine what it must have been like trying to sleep and hearing, at full blast, Rick and Chumlee bitching at each other at 3 AM.

          In the morning, Hotrod and I said our goodbyes and headed down the road. For me, I was heartbroken thinking this was probably the last time I would ever see my dad. I held my emotions in as best as I could but as we fired up our bikes, pulled out of my dad’s driveway, and headed down the long country road, I broke out in tears; the sobbing uncontrollable kind of crying. I couldn’t pull over because Hotrod, who rides much better and faster than I, might not have noticed I wasn’t behind him and left me in the dust blinding me with ass. Trust me, it ain’t easy riding an 800 pound steel beast at 70 MPH and crying like a baby while wearing a full-face helmet. …..On a side note, I was able to visit with my dad 2 more times before he died in 2016.