My father, who was 75 years old at the time, insisted that we go on a road trip that was 1,300 miles long to a coastal town that I had never heard of. I figured that it was simply another one of his whims. He had always been the kind of person who could wake up on a Saturday morning and declare that we were going camping by noon. He was the kind of man who was always eager for an adventure.

On the other hand, something was different this time. The joy that he was feeling had a sense of urgency to it, and there was a mysterious undercurrent that I was unable to correctly identify. Not only was he eager, but he was also fully committed. And despite the fact that I wanted to dismiss it as just another one of his peculiar notions, I couldn’t escape the sensation that this trip carried more significance than he was letting on.

Every single Saturday, I went to pay him a visit at the nursing home. That particular day was meant to be just like any other day: he would be drinking coffee and telling stories, just like he always did. At that moment, however, he moved in closer, his eyes shining with something that appeared to be almost mischievous.

The tone of his voice was low and secretive, and he said, “Fill up your tank.” It is going to be a very lengthy road for us.

An eyebrow was raised by me. A trip, perhaps?

The announcement that “we are going on a road trip” was made by him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The town on the seashore is one that I absolutely must go to. An extremely significant gathering.”

I am snorting. “A gathering? ” Dear Dad, you have retired. What could possibly be of such utmost significance?

Never once did his eyes wander. You won’t have to wait long to find out. To put your faith in me, just do it. My birthday is coming up, and we have to be there.”

My mouth was about to open to argue, but something in his expression prevented me from doing so. It was not merely enthusiasm; rather, it was something more profound. I had never come across such a quiet resolve in him before.

It was “alright,” I sighed. On the other hand, if it turns out that this is just a ruse to get out and go fishing, I absolutely swear—”

Is it fishing? At the same time, he slapped the armrest of his chair and scoffed. If I were to go fishing, would it appear like I have the time to waste?

A few of days later, we were already on our way. In spite of my obstinate refusal to allow me to use a GPS system, my father sat next to me, clutching a folded map, and the SUV moaned beneath the weight of my excessive packing.

The phrase “Technology kills adventure” was spoken by him with a sneer on his face as he gleefully tapped the page. This helps us to remain truthful.

The voyage took me across miles of highways, through inexpensive motels, and through gas station snacks that caused me to reassess the decisions I had made in my life. The hours were filled with tales told by Dad, some of which I had heard previously and others of which I had never heard before.

I was told about the time he used nothing but a lantern and a whistle to scare away a black bear. He also told me about the time he led his Boy Scout unit through a thunderstorm using nothing but a compass and an excessive amount of self-assurance.

I’d spent my entire life listening to these stories, but now that I’m sitting next to him, he’s older and a little more fragile, and they have a new impact on me. “I found myself hanging on every word,” I thought to myself, imaging a younger version of my father who was daring and wild-eyed, pursuing the kind of adventure that never entirely left him.

Nevertheless, there were moments of silence in between the reminiscences and the laughs. These are the long ones. By chance, I was able to catch him peering out the window while his fingers were restlessly tapping against his knee.

Do you feel okay, Dad? I inquired about it.

He suddenly turned his head toward me, as if I had disturbed something he was doing. Even though he was saying, “Better than ever,” there was something odd about the tone of his voice. I was not accustomed to the waver.

I just let it go. For the time being.

On the morning of his birthday, we went to the coast and arrived there.

While the waves crashing below in a rhythmic thunder, the cliffs stood like sentinels against the sea, craggy and powerful even as they dominated the landscape. Both the smell of salt and the smell of wet dirt were pervasive in the air.

Dad got out of the car and basically just stood there for a moment. It was a trembling breath that caused his shoulders to rise and fall.

He said, “It’s exactly the same as I remember it being.”

“You came here when you were a child?” I inquired carefully.

The man gave a head shake. Just for a bit. However, once was sufficient.”

Together, we made our way down to the beach, where the sand was refreshingly cool beneath our feet. After guiding me to an old wooden bench that overlooked the water, he sat down on it.

“What should we do now?” I inquired about it.

He continued, “Now, we wait,” with a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “We are waiting.”

Until I heard footsteps coming from behind us, I was unsure of what it was that we were waiting for.

As I turned around, I noticed a young woman coming closer. She was in her mid-twenties, with blonde hair that was blowing in the breeze and something she was holding in her hands that was relatively small.

She came to a halt a few steps away, smiling with some reluctance.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she added, maintaining a calm tone in her voice. “Are you Peter, by any chance?”

The father blinked. That’s right… do I know you?

With a shake of her head, she responded, “No.” There is, however, my granddad.

She went by the name Ellie. Moreover, as she continued to speak, the narrative began to unravel like a thread that I had not even known had been pulled.

It had been sixty years since my father and her grandpa had been members of the Boy Scouts combined. It was a deal that they had made to meet on this beach on Dad’s 75th birthday, regardless of the circumstances.

“But he’s sick,” Ellie whispered in a low voice. “He is currently bedridden and blind. It was impossible for him to travel by himself. But I made a promise to him that I would come in his place. “And to present you with this.”

She handed Dad a tiny box that had been wrapped rather carefully.

As he ripped it open, his hands were shaking with fear. There was a baseball card inside, and it was in its protective wrapper entirely untouched.

It was a stifled laugh that came from Dad. It is the identical card that I begged him for, but he refused to exchange it despite my repeated requests.

Ellie gave a slight nod. All these years, he has managed to keep it. It was his way of remembering you, he stated on the occasion.

The tears began to well up in Dad’s eyes.

The words “I have to see him” were hushed by him. “I am obligated to express my gratitude to him.”

Ellie exhibited some reluctance. “It’s a drive that takes five hours. And it’s not looking well for him at all. I have no idea if they—”

The father interjected, his voice hard, and said, “We’re going.” It is right now.

There was a palpable lack of sound during the journey to her grandfather’s residence. Dad was lost in contemplation as he gazed out the window, and his fingers were twitching with anxiousness.

By the time we arrived, there was a lack of noise in the house. Overly silent.

With a pallid expression, Ellie’s mother greeted us as we entered the house.

Her voice was soft as she spoke, “He passed away this morning.” “Ellie, just after you left us,” she said.

Father stumbled backwards. His chest tightened up.

“No,” he mumbled, shaking his head in confirmation. “No, we have assured you of that.”

As soon as I heard his voice crack, my father, who had always been the strongest man I’d ever known, began to fall down in front of my very eyes.

I got down on my knees next to him and placed my hand on his shoulder.

In a low voice, I whispered to my father, “The promise was kept.” She was dispatched by him. A card was sent by him. He was able to recall you.

Through a series of erratic breaths, Dad’s chest lifted and sank. “But I was unable to meet him,” she said. However, I was unable to say my goodbyes.

There were no words that I could say that would alleviate the burden of that anguish.

As a result, I remained.

I came to the realization that certain pledges do not require witnesses in order to be considered valid.