Sometimes You Have to Raise the Roof and Laugh
Featured in the Dayton Daily News
I recently bought a new car. My 4 children were grown and I no longer needed the auto equivalent of a 5-bedroom home, so I decided to downsize. I could have gone the four-door sedan route, but somewhere inside me was a middle-aged youngster waiting to be unleashed. I decided to listen to my mid-life self, and bought a 2 door red convertible. Sitting in my roofless car, on a warm, bright, cloudless day is nothing short of exhilarating. Retracting the roof transforms the world as it disappears into the trunk designed for storage. I become one with the sun, the wind, and the vast open space. In the warm parts of the year, I feel liberated as my hair whips in the wind and the bright sun warms my entire being. It is a perfect existence until the season changes and the phone rings. One cold winter day, my 87-year-old dad called me asking if I might take him for a haircut to his favorite barbershop. There were no other cars in my garage that I could “borrow” to transport my dad, so I had no other choice than to give him an inaugural ride in my new wheels. Willingly, I pulled up to the retirement community entrance. My dad appeared with his rolling walker. I ran to the passenger side, and helped him into the seat.
“OOHH!” he said as he admired the new wheels. “This car’s pretty nifty!”
“Do you like it, Dad?” I asked as I closed his door protecting him from the cold. I folded the walker, opened the back hatch, and quickly assessed there was no way this bulky walker would fit into my tiny trunk. I opened my car door, folded the driver’s seat forward, and tried to put the walker in the back seat. It would not fit through the narrow space. I tried flipping the walker on its side, upside down, and right side up to no avail. There was only one thing left to do. Getting in my driver seat, I pushed the high tech button to raise the roof. Like a transformer, the top raised, the sides swung wide, and the pieces of now unrecognizable roof disappeared into the trunk of my car. We were exposed to the frigid temperatures. My dad, sitting with his winter coat and wool cap, looked at me. Shivering, he said, “What were you thinking when you bought this car?”Good question, I thought as I lifted the walker up over the car frame and into the back seat. Perhaps I was just not thinking. How did I ever think my life would fit into a two-door red convertible? Clearly it does not. I had been in denial the last several weeks as not much of anything could fit in my new smooth looking car. Groceries needed to be essential only. Luggage simply could not fit, and trips to bring my college-aged daughter home would require her to do her own laundry in advance. Yet as I sat with my dad in the absurdity of the moment, I realized that sometimes it’s ok for fun to trump practicality in the mundane even if that requires creative problem-solving. New life creates new spaces. As I closed the roof to shield from the cold, my dad and I laughed. I think my middle-aged self was right after all. Raising the roof…perhaps not common-sense, but surely fun. Here we are in the midst of snow season once again. I was with my dad the other day and noticed he needed another haircut. “Dad,” I said, “How about if I take you for a haircut this week?” He looked at me and smiled. There was a twinkle in his eye. We both knew what that meant.