Saturday, February 19, 2011

Driving Miss Daisy
















Before my dad arrived in Texas, my sister Veronica warned me that he has become a horrible back seat driver.  He absolutely hates not being in control and has no problem admitting so.  What is that saying?  Forewarned is forearmed?  Maybe that is helpful in some cases, like the American Revolution, but there is nothing that can prepare you for taking care of a parent.

Returning to work after the initial doctor visits with my dad, a friend asked me what it was like having him around.  My immediate response was that it's like being a fifteen year old with a driver's permit.  Everything I do in front of him feels unsure and clumsy. My former bandmates from The Bellyachers are among the few who have actually witnessed the anomaly of my dad leaving me absolutely witless.  When he is not around I have been known to adoringly identify myself as his 'mini-me'.  A smaller, perhaps less evil version of his lightning fast wit and humor.

The dynamic between my dad and I now is not unlike that between Miss Daisy and Hoke.  I, of course, the gentle, patient, tall, black man, and my dad, the frail, angry, fussy jewish woman.  He doesn't want to go anywhere with me, tells me how badly I am driving and reluctantly accepts my help.  And while I think that is hilarious, I do not want to give the impression that our time together is a negative experience.  Far from it.  What is also parallel to Miss Daisy and Hoke's journey, is that dad and I are on our own trip to the deep South.  Instead of bonding over discrimination, we are finding that we are more than just father and daughter.  On our road we are two flawed individuals who love people deeply. We are people who want to look out for those we love.  People who are tough on the outside and terribly fragile on the inside. Two people dealing with the scars of failed marriages.  People who have overcome adverse childhoods.  People who like Big Macs.

Even while feeding Daisy pumpkin pie when she could no longer feed herself, Hoke managed to respect and even preserve her dignity.  I don't know how far I will chauffeur my dad down this road, but I am grateful for every mile. And I pray I can serve him with the consistent grace and humility with which Hoke served Miss Daisy.

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