Pop, Riding Shot Gun

My dad was always an excellent driver and had a robust love for automobiles. Buying a "new" car (they were never new for that year but always new to us) he would pop his buttons with pride and enthusiasm, take us for a family drive to one of my parents friends to show it off or take us all for a drive in the country just to "get the feel" of the new vehicle. When I was a little girl, because of my dad's influence, I knew the name, make and model of every car on the road. We'd play a game of identifying the cars as we passed by them or followed them. Strong eye-hand coordination and attention to detail made him a great driver right up until the time that he had to give up that privilege. I remember how confident I felt as a child with my dad behind the wheel.

At first it was not so much his inability to drive carefully and accurately that caused us alarm but his inability to remember directions. We noticed that he was getting lost on routes that he had driven over and over again for many years. In time the driving skill began to slip as well and he had a few close calls. Evidently a new fear of being behind the wheel began to grow because we observed that he was no longer choosing to drive the freeways but taking the back streets to get to his destinations. So when the dreaded time came for us to pry his hands away from the steering wheel it was very hard on his male ego.

After his arrival here in Austin I would put him in "shot gun" position in the passenger seat. Every once in a while as we drove along he'd say, "If you get tired of driving let me know. I'd be happy to help out!" I don't know if he really thought I would say, "Yippy, Skippy, OK!" But he'd ask anyway. I guess this was just an attempt at bolstering his sagging ego, giving the impression that he was still capable.

These days he doesn't offer to drive anymore but has taken on the significant roll of helping me maneuver traffic and help me scope out the issues. When I drive to the end of our little road to enter the street, I of course look to my left in preparation to make a right hand turn. Pop will look to the right and check the oncoming traffic in the opposite lane, totally insignificant for my making a right hand turn. He'll tell me, "All clear!" with such finality and confidence!

Often when I am sitting at a red light preparing to cross the intersection he'll again check the oncoming traffic to his right totally unaware of the red light in front of us. Watching the cars roll by he'll tell me, "No, here comes a car. Here comes another one. Here comes another one." When the traffic slows or the light turns green and the traffic stops, he'll say, "All clear!"

One wonders how I ever made it all these years of driving without my dad riding shot gun!