Too old to drive?

I know I have lived my three-score and ten. Still, I’m not sure I warranted the pre-schooler’s conclusion during junior church.I had just started to tell the weekly story.A little girl interrupted to say, “How do you know all these stories?”“I am 73. I have heard and told them all my life,” I shrugged.Her eyes opened so wide, “73! You should be dead!”“Really? I thought I might live to be 103,” I smiled.At that, the whole class went silent, totally shocked at the idea of 103, let alone 73.They looked at each other and murmured, “103? That is a lot.”Worse, later that same day we watched the play “Driving Miss Daisy.” It opens with Miss Daisy backing up her brand new 1949 Chrysler. She accidentally puts her foot on the accelerator instead of the brake. She crashes the car into her neighbor’s yard, totaling the vehicle. The insurance company raises Miss Daisy’s premiums. Her son says, “Momma, you are a high-risk driver.” He forbids her from driving and insists that he will hire her a chauffeur.Still driving at 73, I listened in disbelief. Too old to drive? The events of the show begin about the time of my birth. Life’s expectations differed back then. Now plenty of people continue to work and drive into their 70s and beyond. But at that time, with her age and the accident, the insurance company drastically raised the rates for Miss Daisy.In real life, an acquaintance “Bob” decided his dad, about 70, should quit driving.Bob announced that decision after he traveled three states away with his Mom and Pop to visit friends. At the end of the visit, as they loaded the car, Bob and Mom determined that Pop would not drive them home. The two hopped in the front seat while Pop shut the trunk. Bob took the driver’s side and grabbed the steering wheel. Pop walked to the front of the car and motioned for Bob to get out, saying, “I’m driving.”“No, you are not going to drive anymore. You are not safe,” Bob declared. Mom nodded her head in agreement.Pop persisted. “It’s my car. I’m driving.” The two would not move out of the front seat.They argued. No one yielded, not even when Pop stomped away in a rage and went to the bus depot where he bought a ticket home. Home again, his fury burned the phone lines as he complained to friends and family about the incident. When someone suggested he go to the licensing bureau and be tested, he went. The officer at the bureau saw no problem with Pop’s driving. Bob and Mom backed down. Pop continued to drive. No one ever again told him he was too old and feeble to drive safely. The last week of his final illness he drove himself to the hospital where he passed. Then there is my dad’s story. About the same age as Pop, we began to notice some mental decline. Denied a license for a while, he bought a motor scooter to get around. He got around straight to the licensing office and finangled his way to having another license.Still, his memory failed him so much that he needed to be reminded of the direct route to the restaurants he favored. A medical event placed him in rehab where after the staff assessed his abilities they said, “if he is on the road again, let us know, so we can get off the road.”Like Miss Daisy, denied the privilege of driving, he did not like having others chauffeur him. He did not want to lose his car, but he put up with it.Fortunately, unlike Miss Daisy I’m still driving, even if some little kid does think I’m so old I should be dead.I know I have lived my three-score and ten. Still, I’m not sure I warranted the pre-schooler’s conclusion during junior church.I had just started to tell the weekly story.A little girl interrupted to say, “How do you know all these stories?”“I am 73. I have heard and told them all my life,” I shrugged.Her eyes opened so wide, “73! You should be dead!”“Really? I thought I might live to be 103,” I smiled.At that, the whole class went silent, totally shocked at the idea of 103, let alone 73.They looked at each other and murmured, “103? That is a lot.”Worse, later that same day we watched the play “Driving Miss Daisy.” It opens with Miss Daisy backing up her brand new 1949 Chrysler. She accidentally puts her foot on the accelerator instead of the brake. She crashes the car into her neighbor’s yard, totaling the vehicle. The insurance company raises Miss Daisy’s premiums. Her son says, “Momma, you are a high-risk driver.” He forbids her from driving and insists that he will hire her a chauffeur.Still driving at 73, I listened in disbelief. Too old to drive? The events of the show begin about the time of my birth. Life’s expectations differed back then. Now plenty of people continue to work and drive into their 70s and beyond. But at that time, with her age and the accident, the insurance company drastically raised the rates for Miss Daisy.In real life, an acquaintance “Bob” decided his dad, about 70, should quit driving.Bob announced that decision after he traveled three states away with his Mom and Pop to visit friends. At the end of the visit, as they loaded the car, Bob and Mom determined that Pop would not drive them home. The two hopped in the front seat while Pop shut the trunk. Bob took the driver’s side and grabbed the steering wheel. Pop walked to the front of the car and motioned for Bob to get out, saying, “I’m driving.”“No, you are not going to drive anymore. You are not safe,” Bob declared. Mom nodded her head in agreement.Pop persisted. “It’s my car. I’m driving.” The two would not move out of the front seat.They argued. No one yielded, not even when Pop stomped away in a rage and went to the bus depot where he bought a ticket home. Home again, his fury burned the phone lines as he complained to friends and family about the incident. When someone suggested he go to the licensing bureau and be tested, he went. The officer at the bureau saw no problem with Pop’s driving. Bob and Mom backed down. Pop continued to drive. No one ever again told him he was too old and feeble to drive safely. The last week of his final illness he drove himself to the hospital where he passed. Then there is my dad’s story. About the same age as Pop, we began to notice some mental decline. Denied a license for a while, he bought a motor scooter to get around. He got around straight to the licensing office and finangled his way to having another license.Still, his memory failed him so much that he needed to be reminded of the direct route to the restaurants he favored. A medical event placed him in rehab where after the staff assessed his abilities they said, “if he is on the road again, let us know, so we can get off the road.”Like Miss Daisy, denied the privilege of driving, he did not like having others chauffeur him. He did not want to lose his car, but he put up with it.Fortunately, unlike Miss Daisy I’m still driving, even if some little kid does think I’m so old I should be dead.