A "Meet the Parents" Moment
(Poetic Justice, Vortexia) – Remember my husband’s run-in with the long arm of the law? (See August 6). Well, this month he had another run-in; this time with our future son-in-law. It was a scene right out of “Meet the Parents.”
Dave, as you’ll recall, is an intrepid driver, the guy you want behind the wheel in an emergency. He is also extremely proud of his driving record, having never been in an accident. That is, he’s never been in an accident in public. Here at home it’s another story.
Case in point: Years ago, I was in the house cooking when suddenly I was startled by a loud crash coming from our covered wood shed. I ran to the window to see the front end of our ’68 Chevy pickup sticking out the other end of the building and Dave standing nearby half-dazed. He told me he had started the truck and then been surprised by a yellow jacket in the cab (he’s allergic to their sting). As he bailed out of the rig, he somehow pressed on the accelerator. Defending his male ego, he blustered that anyone would have done the same thing. I mean, who in their right mind would turn off the ignition before jumping from a moving truck when a killer bee is poised to strike?
My own vehicular stupidities are not so easily rationalized away. Like the time I rushed out at night to go to a meeting and didn’t think to look in my rear-view mirror before backing up. Our pastor, who had come to visit us, had parked his brand new Honda right behind our car. I put the car in reverse, gunned the engine and T-boned our pastor’s car, doing hundreds of dollars of damage to it. It took me a good ten minutes to work up the courage to go back into the house and break the news to him. That was a difficult one to live down.
But I digress. Back to Dave.
It is vital to this story to inform you, at this juncture, that Big Time Dave is a perfectionist; someone who has all their ducks in a row. He takes his sweet time with everything and is circumspect in all he does. He is an engineer after all; his genes scream order, regimentation, functionality. For example, he’s the self-appointed family valet parking attendant. As such, he is very particular about where all the cars in our circular driveway are parked (for reasons only he understands; we simply indulge his professorial whimsies). And having never forgotten my run-in with our pastor’s Honda, he has long made it his duty to remind us all of the dangers of parking our cars in spots where someone might forget to look when backing up. Sensible enough, eh?
Well, the other night – while our future son-in-law Alex was here visiting our daughter -- my husband and I hopped into our car to go to town. Dave put the car in reverse, pressed hard on the accelerator, and backed up without looking. Bam! From the sound of the impact, you would have thought we’d totaled both our car and Alex’s. When Alex came out of the house, Dave – still in shock – sputtered some inanities about how he had warned everyone about the dangers of parking in certain areas of the driveway, how he knew this would happen some day, etc., etc.
Vindictive creature that I am, I took great delight in rubbing it in. “There’s no one to blame but yourself, Dave,” I snarked. “You should have looked in the rear-view mirror before backing up.”
Nearly a dozen passionate protestations later, he finally, albeit grudgingly and with caveats, admitted he alone was responsible for the collision. Miraculously, neither car suffered damage. Alex had forgotten to put his car in park, so when we backed into it, it actually rolled out of the driveway, over a railroad tie, and hit a post holding up our grape arbor. Fortunately, the post was rotten and when his car hit it, it gave way, absorbing the impact.
Poor Alex. Had this been the first visit to our home, he may – like Ben Stiller – have been tempted to run from the Neumann family as fast, and as far away, as he could. I wouldn’t have blamed him. After all, having your future father-in-law rant at you about where you parked your car in the driveway and worse, transferring blame for the accident to you, would terrify the most gallant suitor. But Alex is made of stronger stuff than that, and Dave – despite his eccentricities – is impossible not to like. His redeeming quality, he readily admits, is a great sense of humor. He’s a good man, a great father, and a hoot to boot. As he is wont to remind us when episodes like this arise, rather than judge him on his one – or two – minor character flaws, we should judge the “whole package.”
So hang in there Alex. You’re not only gaining a wife, but a whole package father-in-law as well. Isn’t that great? Oh, and don’t forget where to park your car next time you come over.
Sandra Byrd
