, in a speech to auto dealers,
says she hasn't driven since 1996. Security concerns, etc.
I can't imagine being unable to stick a key in the ignition and go — whenever, wherever and alone if I choose. It makes me crazy when I'm iced in.
Talk of driving always reminds me of my dad. He loved to drive, preferably in a muscular Pontiac, just to see what might be around the next corner. Amid the series of strokes that progressively debilitated him, I thought at one point that rehab had been sufficient and that he might be able to try driving again.
I drove him to the parking lot at the Lake Charles High football stadium, where everybody learned to drive, and turned over the keys. When he gripped the wheel, he cackled with delight. Rather than circle the lot a few times, as I had planned, he punched the accelerator. We blasted across 1st Avenue and headed west on Fourth Street toward his favorite sight, his old home place. He saw none of the stop signs, or at least chose not to observe them. It was my father's last drive. Happiest and scariest ever.