Live Free: Dad’s Rules of the Road Kept Us Safe

Emily Reily reflects on her dad's advice this Father's Day

Lawn supplies, the latest Brookstone gadget or a classic “#1 Dad” mug. They’re all great gifts for Father’s Day.  

But Dad might just want one thing: a simple “thank you” for preparing us for life in a troubled and rapidly changing world. 

Dads’ sage advice has been carefully curated from a lifetime of successes and mistakes, worlds of experience and loss, and plenty of common sense, and dads want to pass it on.

For this first Father’s Day without my dad, his advice is highest in my mind.

Wayne Reily, whom we called “Grandfather” (once my daughter was born) or simply “W,” was a 6-foot-1-inch, soft-spoken man of limited words; a quiet, dependable, no-nonsense member of the family.

W’s advice didn’t revolve so much around saving money or getting a good job, but how to stay safe. That was his wheelhouse. 

In the ’70s and ’80s, he took my sister and me around the block in his red Chevy Vega. We sat in his lap trying to steer as he operated the pedals, creeping slowly from our house in Peabody, Mass., on Granite Street, up May Street, past Syd’s Pond, then down Granite Street’s steep hill. When it seemed like we might steer straight into the pond, he would grab the wheel and, with hands streaked and dirty from automotive grease and WD-40, gently steer us back onto the straight and narrow. 

After the Navy, he worked as a car repairman and detailer. While at Burnett’s Garage in Wenham, Mass., he treated my sister and me to quick rides in souped-up MG convertibles on sunny, leafy back streets or on Route 128’s dragway. For a 5-year-old, this felt like breaking every rule in the book. I had no idea what these MGs were about, but if my dad approved of them, then I did, too. 

This was a different time: no Ubers, cell phones, on-board computers or GPS in sight. These cars had push-button coils to light a cigarette, and AC was a luxury. 

We thought his automotive advice was gold. Cars had hidden, free “safety” features he identified by using catchphrases. “Heat is free, kids” meant as long as you have vents, you have heat. For an overtaxed engine, just crank the heat. You’ll be sweating bullets, but at least the car (probably) won’t break down. 

The practice of running the car for 20 minutes on frigid mornings? That’s for delicate cars. W’s rules clearly state you can just get in, turn on the car and go – it will heat up just fine, and you’ll get there quicker.

Car maintenance was simple, and his advice was as DIY as you can get. 

This is before cars could alert you to low levels of nearly any fluid it holds, so we always carried extras of 10W-30 oil, windshield wiper fluid, antifreeze and jugs of water. You don’t need store-bought windshield washer fluid; just fill up the reservoir with water — or drink it if you’re thirsty. 

W’s general idea was that if you ever found yourself in the desert with no wiper fluid, in a blizzard with a flat, or if your oil has magically dried up – you could still get back to safety. Self-reliance was big.

Lessons included how to safely lift and release the hood and how to check the oil level using a ratty old T-shirt, your keen eyeballs and a steady hand. 

We also learned how to change a tire. It wasn’t enough to wait for someone else to do the job. 

Always check oil levels; without oil, engines will “seize up,” and then you’re out one car and a lot of money. If it’s low, add more — but nothing fancy. Cars don’t need more than the basic 10W-30. 

It was all over the top, but we took it to heart. And I think we secretly felt we had true insider knowledge, when most girls weren’t educated on changing tires but on how much Aqua-Net to use.

I carried these safety snippets with me once I got my first car, a used blue Ford Escort station wagon with some rusty holes in the floor. My dependable college transportation was loaded down with books, clothes and far too many decorative things. But I always made room for scrapers, shovels, tools, extra gloves, cash for tolls (no EZ-Pass to be found), maps, food and water. 

Those were the first times I was really away from home and on my own. Whenever I was on the road, miles from the nearest gas station, his advice was a comfort. 

My daughter, now 15, is eager to get on the road. I’ve already taught her the “Basic W’s” of car maintenance, but I’ll surely repeat the advice relentlessly, just like my dad did. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Safe travels, W. Hope your next car gets great mileage and has an even better radio.