My Father's Friday Ritual (And Why I Had to Break It)

"Some traditions are sacred. Others are just waiting for a better way."

As a child growing up in Riyadh, my father observed an unwavering Friday morning ritual, much like the call to prayer. After eating breakfast with the family, he would put on the old thawb he reserved for chores, take a small toolbox, and head out into the driveway to "fiddle" with his car. A car for him was not just a part of daily life, it was another sign of his caring for his family. It was a source of pride. He would check the oil, add fluids, and, most importantly, check the tires. I would watch him kneel on the hot pavement with deep concentration checking the pressure and looking for wear. If he decided the tires were getting close to needing changing, our Friday was planned. We were off to the industrial area for a long, drawn-out trip to his "trusted" tire dealer. I could smell the vulcanized rubber, hear the hissing of the air tools, and sat for hours on a dusty old bench while he haggled, bargained, and finally supervised the installation of the tires. To him, this was what you do. It was an honorable way to approach your responsibilities, and a form of tradition we had inherited.

Many years later, I had my own vehicle, my own employment, and a lifestyle that was moving at a pace my father's lifestyle never did have. When the tread on my own tires reached "low" I felt the burden of that Friday task settle squarely on my shoulders. I realized I had to make the effort to get them replaced, and the time it would take to eliminate my Friday routine felt overwhelming because the whole weekend would pass before the tires were replaced.

My initial attempt to replicate his practice ultimately failed. I sat in a lengthy line of traffic for quite a long duration, arrived at the first tire establishment only to find their prices exorbitant, left the second establishment feeling unceratin if I was being presented with "old tires." It was frustrating, inefficient, and felt entirely out of step with a world where I can time-shift my life activities all on my colored screen. Surely there was a better way.

That evening, I thought I’d turn to the digital world to see if it had a solution. A few key strokes later and I was on what felt like an online marketplace meant specifically for my type of frustration; an online tire marketplace. I entered the make and model of my car, and in seconds I saw dozens of options from suppliers spanning the entire city along with real, clear up front pricing for the tires. It was called ESTBNH, and it felt like a miracle. I could compare brands, check out the manufacture dates on tires, and select a certified installation center close to my office.

In only ten minutes, I had ordered a new set of tires. They would be delivered directly to the installation center, and I had an appointment for installation the following day. It took less than an hour for installation. The whole process was seamless, clear, and best of all, respectful of my time.

The next Friday, my dad came to visit me. He was asking about my car, and when I told him that I had new tires, he raised his eyebrows and said "Already? You didn’t tell me you were going, we could have gone together."

I took my phone out and showed him the application, the invoice, the details of my order. I explained how I put it all together online. He sat silently for a long time looking over the interface. He saw the brands he recognized and the prices he expected. I could see skepticism dissolving into understanding, maybe even awe.

"Things change," he said, returning my phone to me.

True. Things do change. My father's ritual had very little to do with haggling over a few dollars or wasting hours of time. It had everything to do with being vigilant and careful in order to protect his family. I realized I wasn't violating his traditions. I was simply honoring it, utilizing the greater tools of my generation. I was still being responsible. I was simply being responsible in a smarter way.