For Wilshire Baptist Church
It was Dad’s decision to sell his car. He just declared one day that he didn’t need it anymore, which meant he didn’t want to drive anymore. It’s a relief on one level, but it’s a sentimental end of an era on another.
Dad was always a road warrior. If there was someplace someone needed to go, he was ready to go and he’d be the one to do the driving and get them there whether it was a trip around the block or a cross-country trek.
Some of my earliest and fondest memories are sitting in the back seat of the car with Dad at the wheel. Probably the first is as a three year old, being driven home from my grandparents’ house in Sherman to meet my new sister. And later, trips to see my grandparents, vacations, summer camps, school and scouting events. I memorized the back of Dad’s head, the tilt of his shoulders, the way he held the steering wheel with both hands, only letting go to reach over and take Mom’s hand for a moment.
I always felt safe when Dad was driving. I was content to stare out the window at the scenery, or if in town, I’d try to learn the routes he was taking. Sometimes on long trips at night, if I wasn’t sleeping, I’d wonder at how it seemed like the moon was racing us down the highway.
I can’t imagine the courage it takes to quit doing something you enjoyed doing and did so well for so long — 71 years from what I can figure. But Dad quit driving cold turkey. Once he got the idea that it was time, there was no shifting into reverse. He was set on it and he even knew how he wanted to do it. He’d seen commercials on TV about how you could sell a car without leaving the house: “You just call them and they come get your car and they give you a check.” It wasn’t quite that easy, but in essence that’s the way it happened. And there’s been no remorse or second guessing, just a fake “boo hoo, I miss my car” later that day as I drove us to something of a celebratory lunch at his favorite restaurant.
Driving Dad home from a doctor’s appointment yesterday, he thanked me for driving him there and back home again. He thanks me for that a lot lately, but I remind him of all the places he drove me for the first 16 years of my life. He also compliments my driving, and my answer is always the same: “I learned from the best.”
I’m writing this from the service waiting room of the Hyundai dealership where I’m getting an oil change and other routine maintenance. The folks here always ask if I’d consider a trade-in for some new wheels. I don’t know how many more new cars I have in my future. I just hope I’ll have the courage and selflessness to know when the car I’m driving is my last.