Drivers and What Not

Last night’s dinner conversation on Nat’s 15 1/2 birthday was comical. First, the reason I know  she’s 15 1/2 is because that’s all she’s been talking about since she started the getting your driver’s license process.  We got an appointment one day after she was 15 1/2 because it was the first available appointment. Otherwise, we would have been here yesterday.

Anyway, she’s super excited. We were discussing when she would actually drive. She and my Little Honey Bunch were trying to coordinate their schedules. She wanted to drive Friday afternoon.  He said he wasn’t available.

me:  I’m available.

them: giving each other knowing looks and silence.

me:  Wait a minute here!  Do you mean to tell me you want Deez to teach you to drive instead of me?  The person who wanted to be a race car driver when she grew up?

nat:  Yes. Deez is a little calmer than you.

me:  I’m the one who has already taught two children to drive!  How many children have YOU taught to drive?

deez: And how many of those children have totaled three cars?

Damn, he’s quick!  Touché, Little Honey Bunch, touché. 

So now I feel compelled to explain this. Motsy did in fact total three of our cars, but it wasn’t his fault.   This is kind of like my ‘Incidents‘ explanations. He needs to be able to plead his case because totaling three cars sounds kind of bad. 

First, there was my ’85 Golf. He was driving home in the rain, in a raging downpour, hit a huge, invisible puddle at the Berkeley curve, which sent him into a hydroplane.   This was before cell phones so he had to hop a fence a find a pay phone in Emeryville to call us to get him.   The car was beyond repair. I did run into our childhood neighbor, Tony Seuss, and he said he’d take it off our hands. We gave it to him and he actually fixed it and got a few year’s use out of it.  The rain’s fault.

Then there was the ’95 Blazer.  He was minding his own business driving across an intersection in Berkeley when he got t-boned by a car being chased by the Berkeley Police.   Totaled beyond repair. Took the insurance on that. The funny thing about this is that somehow in the commotion, the suspects, a male and female ended up on a roll of film Mot had developed with pictures of the totaled Blazer.   They left a disposable camera behind and Mot picked it up. The suspects were all cheesing and taking pictures of themselves in the stolen car they were in.  Anyway, not his fault.

Last (that I know of), there was Old Blue, my Little Honey Bunch’s dad’s old ’77 Chevy pickup with a three on the tree. Motsy was innocently driving it when the transmission decided to go out. My nephew ended up taking Old Blue, fixing him up and getting a few more years out of him.  So, again, not his fault.

I’ve always refer to him as the accident magnet. I was kind of relieved when he lived in Brooklyn and took the subway everywhere. He can’t really total a subway train. At least not by driving it.  He asked to drive Silky once and I told him, no, because I didn’t want it to be ‘not his fault’ on my beloved Silky.  After realizing we really didn’t like New Guy, my Little Honey Bunch suggested we let Motsy borrow him.  Reputation precedes him, I guess.

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