Driving fear into my heart since 1964

An aside:

It’s a blessed wonder my father is still alive since he can’t drive worth a darn. That’s not a new development, so don’t worry that I need to have “the talk” with him, yet.

When I became an adult, I realized that his driving skills weren’t great, but had never known any differently because my mother didn’t drive and I had always ridden with him.

God bless the Toyota Prius and it’s reliable braking system.

How in the world did I learn to drive?

I know I dispense a lot of advice here about how to know when your aging parent shouldn’t be driving anymore, but I don’t know how I’m going to tell the difference between his baseline bad driving and the eventual decline in his driving skills due to age.

I rode with him today, and if I haven’t ridden any great distance with him in a while, I forget.

The whole way I couldn’t help but think of the Jack Handey saying: “When I die, I want to die like my grandfather–who died peacefully in his sleep. Not screaming like all the passengers in his car.”