I was talking to my mom today and she was telling me all about church on Sunday and her ‘Diversity’ group that she belongs to. I’m sure she is a special member of that group because not only is her son a ‘gay’ but his ‘partner’ is black. Never mind that when we were kids she hated the ‘Polacks’. When I mentioned that I hadn’t seen St. George church in many years, she replied, "Well next time......".
I know what that means ‘next time’. Every time Mark and I visit her she gets us into her ‘Scooby’ van under some pretext. She then proceeds to, as Mark calls it, ‘kidnap’ us and take us on a long tour of Tinley Park. I really don’t mind because I find it interesting how that place has changed over the years, and yet enough is still there to bring back memories. For Mark it’s an exercise in terror. He has never ridden in a car driven by an eighty five year old white woman before. Once on our way to my sisters house with Mark in the back seat screaming in fear like a little girl, she made a maneuver that made me proud. With every last bit of horsepower that old Dodge van could muster, she whipped around a corner just ahead of an oncoming vehicle.
Mark thinks her driving is related to her age and maybe that her eyesight is not as good as it used to be. I, however, know that she drives exactly the same today as she did when I was a kid. If you want to know where I got my stellar driving skills, it’s because she was one of my driving instructors when I was fifteen years old. The last time we visited her I suggested that we all go out for breakfast. Mom was happy to go, in fact she insisted that she drive. It took us about forty five minutes to get from her house to Oak Park Ave. and Ravinia Drive. Not because she drives slowly, no, because she was zipping all around Tinley Park. Up and down the streets of my childhood at a speed that made it a little hard to keep up with the narrative. Meanwhile in the back seat Mark looked like he’d just seen a ghost. He swears there will be no next time. Lila drives fast and hard, she takes no prisoners, just get the hell out of Lila’s way.
Yes, her NASCAR number is eleven.
ReplyDeleteCome on Alan, I told you to ask MB about the scratched-car-in-the-church-lot story. Or ask Patti about riding in the backseat with my kids and Trish as a baby and the "chant" they came up with as Mom drove, speeding around corners!Do you remember when mom learned to drive? Mrs. Nelson taught her as a bunch of us kids stood in the back seat of the old black car. I don't think she'll ever give up her keys, they signify freedom to her.
ReplyDeleteAlan: You told me you drove like you did because you were once a cab driver. So, the truth is you actually inherited your driving skills. Or lack there of...
ReplyDeleteHow wonderful that your mother is still active and drives in her 80's. I remember you telling me once that you use to fall asleep on the back window ledge (remeber those in the old cars) of your dad's car. The bac window actualy raised and lowered on that model. What kind of car was that again?
ReplyDeleteGaret, that was a 1953 or '52 Plymouth and the window did not go up and down. That would have added some exitement to it.
ReplyDelete