Oh, Maude. Glad You & Harold Rescued That Tree, But Now That I'm Older, I Realize You Probably Shouldn't Have Been Driving

My father has always driven rather conspicuously. Most of my childhood was spent in the backseat with Cynde and Casey, while he sat up front with his Lucky Strikes and a 6-pack of beer. It was especially horrifying as we pulled into Cherry Heights. He would take his foot off the gas and simply let the 2 mph resting state drive us all the way to our home. As an adult driver now, I wonder how he could tolerate the car going that slow....how we did...my sisters, my mom, and me.

In my teen years, I remember my sisters and I wondering if he'd make it home safely from the Clam Bar in North Syracuse, especially on later afternoons after a shift at Hancock International Airport. Years later, I would learn from my father's drinking buddy, also my high school history teacher, that "the secret of post-Clam Bar driving is to wait for the junior high school late buses to leave in the afternoon and to follow them with a focus on the yellow block in front of you. Buses drive slow and follow all laws, making it easier to control your own driving."

Great advice. Education is all-encompassing.

For over the past decade, whenever I returned home, I'd do the driving. He'd hand me the keys, even when went to Chubby's, the water hole for his later years. He drank less and less, and sometimes only had a Pepsi, but would still drive as slow as a snail. That's just the way he traveled. When in town, he'd let me take the wheel.

We've been aware of the danger of senior driving, especially when Grandma Vera started fading in her capacity to control a car. She'd change several lanes without looking in rearview or side mirrors, and eventually would get in an accident by hitting the gas as if it was the break. Her friend was hurt badly, and this is when it was decided it's probably not a good idea that she has a set of keys in her purse anymore.

History repeats itself. The debate over driving has occurred conversationally for the past 5 years, and a diagnosis of dementia quickened a decision needing to be made (although it came at the speed of my father's driving....very, very, very slow). In fact, two and a half years later, a calls been made.

Perhaps this is why, while I walked yesterday, I shook my head as my father pulled up in his red, Toyota Rav, to see if I wanted a ride and to get a beer. 

I would love that. Always have loved that. 

But, now it's time for him to be the passenger, and for Cynde, Casey, and I be in the driver's seat. That's just the way the circle of life goes. If any trees are to be rescued, Maude will simply have to be a passenger who enjoys the ride.