I taught the Butcher to drive. It seemed necessary after going through the process myself of learning to drive from my dad. For those of you tough guys who think that learning anything from my dad must be a walk in the park, I suggest you borrow a crazed pit bull who is determined to get in the driver’s seat while someone is yelling, “Turn right. Turn left. Watch out for that car! Break! Break! Oh my god, you idiot, are you trying to kill us? We wear seatbelts in this family!” while your mom sits in the back saying, “Now, now, let’s just go ahead and start the car. It will be better once the car is started.” and see how you fare.
No, if the Butcher was going to learn to be a good driver, he had to learn from anyone other than my dad. And so, on Sundays, I would come home from work, climb into the passenger’s seat, and off we would go, just driving to be doing something.
I think my biggest disappointment driving around is that it always seems to me, at some point, like some new paradigm is just over the next hill, just around the next corner, and if only you could squint hard enough or look at the right moment, you might see something that would change your whole world.
I just want to go someplace creepy. I’d rather be spending my afternoon doing that. Sometimes, I can talk folks into getting in the car with me and going creepy places. It’s been a long time, though.
Let’s reminisce about spooky stories. Here’s my favorite spooky thing that’s happened to me.
Ha, it’s Day of Disjointedness, I think. Maybe I need more sleep.