Driving Miss Daisy.

If you don't know the reference, stop reading here.

I am trying to teach my oldest how to drive while not dying of a heart attack in the process.

Side note?

Not easy.

I remember my dad was the pick up guy.

He would shuffle the beloved minivan from Jersey to the Big Ol' City to grab his only child.

One day, after turning the correct age to get a drivers license, I was tossed the keys; out of nowhere.

A teenage girl in a uniform, in NYC.

Driving isn't quite my strong suit; but would like to think I am good now, but not then.

That said, 16 year old me was not ready for the West Side Highway and the GWB in a fake wood paneled MINIVAN.

To all the kids who grew up up with depression era parents are no joke.

And yet once again...

Again only child, is this how my life ends?

Why the minivan?

Anywho, I have never recieved more middle fingers in my life; forget Sully landing on the Hudson, that was nearly my Waterloo.

Where is my documentary?!

Now that I think about it, perhaps it was him teaching me how to drive that lead to HIS cardiac demise.

Sorry Dad.

My vocabulary is getting more colorful by the minute.

Brb.

Grabbing a rosary, some worry beads. Some kleenex and toilet paper.

Xoxo,

C.

P.S. Followup:

I am not sure if my Dad was disgusted or proud but I got us over the GWB in 1 piece.

Not to worry, I am in the process of taking many bows.

As in curtsy not hair bow.

And I myself have lived yet another day to take my oldest back out on the open road to scream, 'brake' and 'inch up', and 'Jesus Christ,' while I hold onto the passengers side door like it will save my life, because you know I am Catholic after all.

Church is now in the house of Traverse.

Looking into Teslas.

Cheers!