Hanging Up the Keys

The day has arrived. I've reached the dreaded moment when I have to discuss that delicate topic. Surely, no one looks forward to the talk. It isn't going to be pleasant. I will hide my embarrassment. I will disregard the blast of her icy stare. She will make the talk tedious for me. Undoubtedly, the gap will widen between us. I feel anxious. It is time, though, because Mom has become a driving menace on the road.

In my head, I try to find the proper words. Even in thought, my words sound awkward. I say them out loud. "Mom, we need to talk about your driving." "Mom, driving today is different." "Mom, there is a lot more traffic now compared to -- other times." I sound phony and try again.

"I have a humorous story to tell you about an elderly driver. Well, it is sort of, maybe a tiny bit funny, but not really funny at all. In fact, I have decided not to tell you the story. It isn't that important because you are a good driver, and I am a bad daughter. I came over today to tell you just that. Mom, you are one heck of a driver, and I am glad you are my mother." Ugh!

Perhaps I could hold her hand reassuringly as I utter my concern. I will start with a story. I'll recount a mishap I had with an elderly female driver who practically caused an accident last Thursday.

She almost missed the entrance to the "Hair by Harry" beauty salon. So she took a daring ninety-degree turn into the parking lot. I laid on the horn. She flipped me the bird, which nearly caused her a rear-end collision with a bright yellow Hummer.

Snidely, Mom will prompt me to provide the point of my story. I'll say something stupid like, "Well, Mom, I don't want you flipping people off or crashing into Hummers. That's all I am trying to say... I guess. Seriously, I am just saying."

The more I ponder how to tell my mother that she is no longer adept at driving, the worse it feels. A light goes off. Why not be honest? Nothing frees a soul like speaking the truth. Look her in the eye and tell it like it really is.

"Mom, you have always been an excellent driver." No. "Mom, you were a pretty good driver. Except for the time, you drove over my brand new bike in the garage. Remember when you took out the mailbox? That was crazy, funny stuff!"

"Oh, no, really, Dad thought you were the best driver. I agree it was that man who ran the red light at the plaza and not you, Mom. Bet you were relieved that he was a no-show for court. No, my friends loved riding with you. It was their moms that were terrified."

I am now ten minutes from my mother's house. My cell phone rings. It is Mom. She has no idea I am coming to revoke her driving privilege. I experience sadness, nerves, and guilt. Mom has (never-ending) breaking news to share. She fills me in, and my mouth drops.

Mom says, "Gertrude Gantry, you know, the woman who minds everyone's business but her own, the lady we call Gossip Gerty.Well, she drove her husband's Kia Rio right into Lenny Butler's pool this morning over on Redbow Avenue."

I gasp and say, "Wow! Lenny Butler is still alive? He must be one hundred by now."

Mom laughs. "Lenny passed years ago. His son is Lenny, too. He's an odd man. He works at home, but no one knows exactly what type of work he is in. Anyway, the pool has been not been used since Lenny died. Lucky for Gerty there was no water in it. She has some minor injuries. She is OK, though."

Mom went on. "I don't like Gerty, but I am glad she is not seriously hurt. I never want anything like that to happen to me."

"I've been thinking about hanging up my keys permanently for a while now. Gertrude's accident forced me into making that decision. I'd rather be safe than sorry."

I said "hallelujah" softly while my mother continued to talk. As I pass her house, I honk the horn twice.

Mom said, "There goes Margaret. I know because she always beeps twice. She must be off to the beauty shop. Margaret goes to "Hair by Harry" every Thursday."

"Last week, she said a discourteous man in a bright yellow Hummer almost ran her over in the salon parking lot. Good grief; that makes me glad I won't be driving anymore."