My Father

My father and I were very close. I loved pleasing him, and he was always proud of my success. If I won a spelling contest at school, he was on top of the world. Later in life whenever I got a promotion, I'd call my father right away and he'd rush out to tell all his friends. In 1970, when I was named president of the Ford Motor Company, I don't know which of us was more excited. Like many native Italians, my parents were very open with their feelings and their love not only at home, but also in public. Most of my friends would never hug their fathers. But I hugged and kissed my dad at every opportunity—nothing could have felt more natural. He was a curious man who was always trying new things. He was the first person in Allentown to buy a motorcycle. Unfortunately, my father and his motorcycle didn't get along too well. He fell off it so often that he got rid of it just a month after buying it. As a result, he never again trusted any vehicle with less than four wheels. Because of that motorcycle, I wasn't allowed to have a bicycle when I was growing up. Whenever I wanted to ride a bike, I had to borrow one from a friend. On the other hand, my father let me drive a car as soon as I turned sixteen.