#1. I have decided to write a book. I hope all three of you reading will hold me accountable to this. It has been a dream of mine for a long time. Ideas stack up in my head and never find their way to paper. I think it's time. I feel more motivated than ever to make it happen.
#2. My championing Laziness has yet again won out on the blogging front, and instead of creating a blog all on my own I asked my Dad to do the work for me....
I approached my Dear Ol' Dad about writing out one of my favorite stories that I had only heard for the first time a few years ago (2 at the most). This story makes me smile any time I think of it because it is truly funny. I have to stress that, and you will see why. So, my father, never missing a moment to create a greater moral....never ignoring an opportunity to parent, has lovingly retold a story that I love. Please enjoy.
First, some background. When I was seven years old, our family and another family were returning from the movies one night, all of us piled into our car. We were driving back home through the streets of downtown Birmingham. My father was driving as five different conversations competed in the backround. He stopped at a traffic light. Then the light turned green. But he hesitated; he had noticed another car was running their red light. Not so fortunate were the two men in the lane next to us. They rolled into the intersection where a speeding car slammed into their front right fender. We all watched as the force of the collision spun the hapless mens' car into a pinwheel. So strong was the spinning of their car that their passenger door flew open, and the passenger was hanging outside the door, clinging as long as he could. When both cars skidded to a stop, my father pulled our car to the curb, and ran across the street to stop the light-running car from escaping. As the driver rolled down her window, alcohol vapor billowed out. The lady was stunned, but was also so drunk that her speech was slurred. Anyway, as a seven year old kid, I was so struck by the quick action of one driver, my father, that I determined I would never be clobbered by a light runner. It seemed like a simple enough pledge: never run a red light, and always check before moving on green. That pledge has actually saved me a couple of times since.
And now to the main story. A high school friend, Bobby, and his family were returning home from downtown Birmingham when a drunk light runner rammed their car. Bobby and his father were seriously injured. Bobby's father was released from the hospital a few days later. Bobby would be on indefinite life support, but would never regain his mind. His poor family made the agonizing decision to pull his plug, and Bobby died quickly. Many friends and family, including my family, attended his funeral. After the service, we all formed a procession to the cemetary. Motorcycle police provided escort. I was in my car alone.
I watched as one motorcycle escort stopped traffic for us, and then bolted off to the front of the funeral procession. Suddenly, the light before me turned red. I know, I was in a funeral procession, and I had the right-of-way. But I reacted involuntarily, just as I had programmed myself to, and I stopped. The procession in front of me faded away. Routine traffic swallowed them up, even as I watched. When the light finally turned green, I sped frantically to rejoin the procession, but I failed. And I didn't know exactly where the cemetary was. It was on the side of town we rarely visited. I decided that I was just one of many, and that no one would notice my absence, so I turned into a hamburger joint to get a hamburger. That's when I saw the tail of the funeral procession in my rear view mirror. Despite my speeding, they had kept up with me, and now they were turning with me into the hamburger stand! Again, I made a snap decision. I sped through the drive-thru, and back into traffic, the rest of the procession in hot pursuit. I guess I got lucky and eventually found the cemetary, the last cars in the procession still with me. We drove so fast that we arrived at the cemetary at the same time as the front of the procession. We weren't behind them, though - we met them head on. As Bobby's poor mother exited the family limousine, she noticed us driving up to the lead car. She looked very puzzled, but then joined her family who had kept walking up to the graveside.
No one said a word to me, and I guess my own family never knew what had happened. Just one of those bad decisions you make for the right reason, I guess. I can recall a few other bad-decisions-for-the-right-
Love,
Daddy
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