Four Wheels and Freedom

It’s very surreal to me when I go back home and I drive my parents around. Looking in the rear view mirror and seeing them sitting there fills me with a million emotions. My father taught me to drive in empty parking lots and the cemetery. You may think a cemetery is a strange place to learn to drive, but with all the winding roads and the absence of high traffic, it wasn’t too bad. But, as it always happened, my father and I got into a huge argument.

     

For years, our family car was a 1969 Chevy Impala. It was a huge boat of an automobile that could fit six people so comfortably; you were almost tempted to live in it for days. The only time I can remember my grandparents in the car with me were on the days we would travel a few miles to my grandmother’s favorite restaurant. One time, on a stretch of highway called, strangely, Jerry Jingle, all the lights were green and we were racing along until finally, the last traffic light turned red and stopped us in our tracks. We all laughed so hard, including my father who turned around and said that he thought we’d make them all for once. I don’t know why this particular memory stands out for me, but every time a bunch of lights are green and I drive through every one, I think of that perfect ride on that perfect day.

     

I was three when we moved to Chelsea and for years, until Lil’s husband sold it, Pa’s Model-T Ford was parked in the large yard, down a slope away from the house. It had a rumble seat in the rear and you could hit the bumper with a hammer and the tool would just bounce right off. I think he paid $300 for it, but I never saw it driven, nor did he ever own another car. I never saw him drive. There’s a picture somewhere of all of us sitting in the Ford, so I evidentially did ride in it.

     

One time, my friends and I took that ’69 Chevy all the way to Provincetown and my dad was so angry when he discovered the car had gone that far. My brother and I drove that boat into the ground. With its little plastic bowling pin attached to its antennae so we could find it in a parking lot, that car had a lot of great memories. My father would probably still have it if I never got my license.

     

            I’ve had the same license plate, E8526 for as long as I’ve been married. When I came home from our honeymoon, Aunt Lil’s husband gave me the plate and said to claim the number at the registry. I don’t think you’re allowed to do this anymore. At the time, it was just an ordinary number, not a more expensive low number as it is today.