Today I heard The Father of My Children’s fuller explanation of the incident on Thursday. He was in the right lane, trying to pass a line of inexplicably slow left-lane traffic. Trucks and cars were honking and flashing their lights. He saw my car at the head of the pack and called me. As he drew even with my car, he says, #1 Son was driving along dreamily, apparently unaware of all that was going on behind him.
My father, a brilliant man, was never a successful driver. He was too busy thinking great thoughts. In the Army during WWII, he flipped over a jeep with four guys in it. (This happened in camp, and apparently no one was hurt.) Let’s just say they didn’t so much have him driving after that.
Daddy lived in places where a car wasn’t necessary. Can we even imagine that now? He got around Wahooville without a car while going to law school. And in Jane Austen’s Village he lived within walking distance of his law office and the courthouse. If he needed to go to Big City Across the River, he went on the little ferry connecting the two downtown areas and walked to wherever he needed to be. For jaunts and adventures, as well as grocery shopping, he had my mother, a clever woman who did the driving.
He never had a driver’s license until 1966. He was running for the Senate and his opponent began some talk suggesting he was less than fully a man because he did not drive.
I’m not kidding.
He got my uncle to teach him the basics and passed the test.
Then one morning he took the car out early to do a little practicing, got to thinking about something and drifted into a tree at a low speed.
My mother was less than amused, as I recall.
At least #1 Son didn’t drift into anything. And think we may conclude that the The Father of My Children was trying to save me from the Road Rage of others.
As far as #1 Son goes, "I guess it’s better than knowing he’s speeding," said TFoMC with a bemused shake of the head.