LOVE BUG

My dad loved cars. He loved to drive them, wash them and then towel them dry with his magical chamois cloth. His most prized possession was a 1963 tan and black convertible Volkswagen Beetle, which became almost like a family pet, due to my father's ardor and dedication. All it took to feel a deep sense of relief was to put the top down and then take a ride with my mom and dad in the love bug through the Amish Country, past the fields of cows and Amish boys driving tractors, rich with the smell of horse manure wafting in the air, cornstalks moving in time, the breeze whipping my face. And the crazy shaking with a very loud whirring sound that the car made at all times was as if at any moment the floor might collapse. I loved that. If the top was up, it felt like you were in Apollo 11 when the rocket has to get through the earth's atmosphere to get into space and you're not sure it will. The sound was so loud, you couldn't even carry on a conversation with the person next to you. It was spectacular, almost like making any ride in the beetle an otherworldly happening.

Actually, if you look closely enough at this picture, you can see my father standing proudly beside his precious VW. He took such meticulous and loving care of his bug that it became the car that I learned how to drive 25 years later and then consequently smash into bits after running a red light on my way to a girl scout camp reunion only a few days after passing my driver's test. I had totaled my dad’s steadfast friend.

I will never forget the look of wretched despair on my father's face upon seeing his beloved VW mangled in a heap by the side of the road. It was as if he had lost his treasure, his world. There were never any words written in the human language that could ever convey how sorry I was. Some kind of real death took place that day -- but still -- he never yelled at me. He took me in his arms and hugged me and said, "At least you're okay, Snix. That’s all I care about.”

My dear dad, my hero.

I never EVER thought I would witness such deep sorrow like that in my father ever again -- until the day he became despondent over the fact that his driver’s license had been taken from him because of his dementia.

After I heard the news, I felt a panic so great I got on a train at once to pay him a visit. I found him in the kitchen, staring blankly out of the window. At first I thought he was admiring the mamma duck who had built a nest in their front flower bed, and was sitting on her eggs.

I said, "Whatcha think about that?"

His reply came in a whisper.

"I can't drive anymore."

We just looked at each other and started bawling. My mother walked in, saw the pity party, and walked out.

My poor mother. She was the rock of us all and trying to keep some sense of normalcy while keeping him safe from harm. At first, she would hide his car keys, hoping he would forget that he loved to drive. No such luck. Things got out of hand when he let himself be heard on a senior citizens bus trip back from North Carolina. For no apparent reason he lost it and started shouting at the top of his lungs, “YOU PEOPLE RUN A CLUNKY DISORGANIZED OPERATION, THIS IS ATROCIOUS, AND ON TOP OF IT, MY WIFE WON'T LET ME DRIVE!"

"That's not true, John!" she had said.

When they got home, she called me in NYC and told me that if he passed his test again, she was going to have to let him drive. And if he didn't pass his test, his license would be revoked from the PA DMV and get HER off the hook.

A few days passed after that, and finally my phone rang. It was my mother. And I could hear relief in her voice as she said very matter-of-factly, "Well...your father failed his driving test today and had his license revoked.”

"Oh My God! What happened?" I asked.

My mother replied, “When the woman who was giving the test asked your dad how many miles-per-hour he thought he was allowed to drive, he chuckled and then answered, "As many as my wife will let me!"

MY DARLING DAD, JOHN A. GREER.

ATBPITW!

All The Bushels and Pecks In The World!

Love, your Snicklefritz.

xoxo