Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Dr. Mary's driving school

This memory came back like an early birthday present giving me a warm laugh during the day. One definition of comedy is a tragedy that happens to someone else and how grateful to my older brother for playing the role of a tragic figure leaving me to eternally enjoy the comedy of this memory.
My mother got it into her head that she could teach my brother-let me correct that. My poor wretched, hopeless, eternally doomed brother allowed my mother to teach him how to drive on one typical summer Saturday morning. Now in most societies and on most planets the person teaching someone how to drive actually sits next to that person in the front seat, but not at Dr. Mary's Driving school. She sat in the back seat in this big old blue boat of a Ford Galaxy holding on for dear life yelling at my brother to be careful and the poor guy had not put the car in drive yet. I was in the front seat of the best show in town. My brother was half crazy with nerves as the car moved ever so slightly down South Chestnut St. I estimate we were moving at about ten miles per hour down a deserted wide avenue when my mother yelled out, "Help! I'm being tossed around like a ball back here!" I don't know what happened after that as I blacked out from laughter. A couple of years later there was was no mention of a driving lesson from the good doctor. I was sent of to Ben's Driving School. Ah the joy of being the younger brother.


  1. I can see it.

    Having been driven by you guys to watch the Giants play on Sundays is a cherished memory.

  2. I will forever regret not meeting your mother.