My Real Life

Have you ever had something happen to you and you are immediately transported back in time?

Yeah?

Me too.

I had an appointment at the orthopedist the other day and my Mom came over to watch the monkeys.

As I was leaving, she handed me the keys to her car and said “Wanna take my car?”

I said “Yes!” and flew out the door.

Every now and then, I love to drive someone else’s car.  It’s nice to drive something that isn’t the biggest car on the road.

My Mom has a new, bright red, Volkswagen Beetle.

Cute.

However, it’s quite a change going from a monstrous Ford Expedition to a Volkswagen Beetle.

Trust me on this one.

I get to the doctor, have my appointment,  and head back out to the car.

Not only is the Beetle lower to the ground than my Expedition, but the seat is lower in the car, as well, and as a result, it’s hard to see over the hood, which slants down rather quickly.

End result, my judgement was way off as I backed out of the space and tried to decide when I should start to turn the wheel to angle out of the space and not hit the pole next to which I was parked.

Way off.

I heard the scraping, swore a bit, and pulled back into the spot.

I knew it wouldn’t be good, but I didn’t want to look, so I re-backed out (without hitting the pole this time) and headed to the pharmacy.

The whole way to the pharmacy my stomach was flipping around and I was instantly 18 again.

In my senior year, I borrowed my Mom’s Toyota Tercel (loved that car…it was a stick…someday, I’ll drive a stick again…I really miss it) all the time.

One Monday evening in February was particularly snowy and icy, but our Key Club advisor decided we had to have a meeting anyway.

Kim was the President and I was the Vice-President, so we had to be there.

I picked Kim up and we headed to school.

However, even though I was going slowly, I hit a patch of black ice and the car slid into the guardrail and dented and scratched up the front bumper.

The whole meeting, all I could think about was what my Mom was going to say, (my Dad was out of town), and I was terrified.

I can’t say I was terrified the other day, but my stomach was in knots and while I waited for my prescription in the pharmacy, I noticed my hands were shaking.

When I got home, I asked about the kids and got a good report and we chatted for a bit and then my Mom said “How was driving the car?”

“Heh-heh…” I stammered.  “It was…um…well, I feel like a teenager right now, but…”

My Mom was just staring at me.

“I…uh…kinda scratched your car.”

As anticipated, there was a bit of a shriek-y “What?” and I explained what happened, but unlike when I was 18, I followed with, “…and of course, I’ll pay for the damage.”

In the end, she was fine, and completely got me back with a phone call, the next day, telling me that they had taken it in and the damage was $2,500, at which point I almost vomited and passed out simultaneously.

Then she told me she was joking.

She’s funny, that Mom of mine.

I wrote about this in my journal so that I can look back when one of the kids bangs up or scratches my car and remember how nervous I was, even as a 40 year old, to fess up to the damage and to be kind when it happens to them.

I have a feeling, though, that might not work.