Cracker Jacks

Silver alerts are terrifying. Don’t misunderstand. Amber alerts make me queasy and cause tears to spring forth from my eyes, too. True crime aficionado that I am, I know it’s not easy to get an Amber alert issued. When the alarm on your phone goes off, it means a determination has been made that a child is in immediate danger. Similarly, the Silver Alert Network requires that the missing person meets certain criteria: over 65, diagnosed mental impairment, etc. Both represent groups that are defenseless, dependent on others for basic care, and possess an innocence that makes the entire situation heart breaking. Thankfully, I’ve never been directly affected by either. Still, I remember the day I skirted a silver alert. My mom had gotten lost trying to find her old job. She wanted to visit the senior center where she’d been the activities director for many years. She wound up in South Dallas, on the wrong highway, with no clue how to get home. Thankfully, she had the wherewithal to call me from the cell phone she remembered to bring along. I was able to fulfill the role of rescuer that day, but it started a domino effect of the loss of her independence. As I took her keys from her, blaming her doctor and falsely agreeing with her claims of excellent motoring skills, I paused to think back on my mother’s history of driving. Marsha was heck on wheels. Let us revisit.

Around the time I was 10, we had a wreck. It wasn’t her fault. We were in the whale, an early 70s station wagon my mom drove. It was huge, slate blue, and possibly a Buick, hence the nickname. We were next to the old Stop & Go store by the highway in Seagoville. Momma was driving. I was riding shotgun. We weren’t wearing seat belts because you didn’t have to. A 16-year-old kid in his mom’s car ran the stop sign and tboned

us. We spun around several times before we hit the ditch. Had it not been for the whale’s immense girth and weight, we surely would have tumbled tip over end. I was held in place solely by the unnaturally long arm of my mom as she clotheslined my head into the headrest. All mothers had extra-long right arms in those days. Call it evolution. I recall having a complete conversation as we were spinning. “Dina,” she said (my mom added all sorts of extra vowels to her words, as all good southern women do, making my name sound a little like a cross between Diana & Dana), “I smell gas. As soon as we stop spinning, I want you to get out and run as far away from this car as you can.” I was a half mile down 175 before a policeman, who happened to be leaving the library around the corner and saw the collision, caught up with me. The other car struck ours around 2 inches from my door. Had I been sitting in my normal area, the rear suicide seat, I would not have been in such danger. Ironically, my mom was convinced that I would die if I sat in the rear of the wagon. To her credit, her later recitations of driving prowess do not include looking both ways before venturing into that intersection, though they do include speeding up in order to save my life.

My mom had an entire stand-up comedy routine she performed when behind the wheel. She was wary of other drivers and did not hesitate to educate them on their lack of skill, from the safety of a rolled-up driver’s side window. “I see Cracker Jack is handing out driver’s licenses again,” was one of her favorite sayings. She would also address the actual car. “I see you, black car. Stay on your side of the road.” Cars that swerved from their side of the country lane toward hers were often assumed to be women drivers putting on lipstick. “No one thinks you’re cute, honey. Save that lipstick for the VFW.” Similarly, tailgating cars were assumed to be women in a hurry to get to their husbands. “Alright, miss priss, he’s still gonna be there when you get home.” My all-time favorite commentary, however, was the classic Marshaism for a car that was going too slow for her liking. “If you wanna park it, build a fence around it. If you wanna milk it, put a stool under it. But, get it outta my way.” Mom had driving dig for any occasion.

My final anecdote stems from my kids. I don’t know what I would have done without my mother, back in those middle school years when I went back to work. I had three children in multiple schools. Everyone needed rides home, rides to practices, and rides for friends. Mom was always there to help in her cab and a half F-150 standard truck. She was known for spontaneous driver karaoke. Pat Green’s Wave on Wave was a favorite. My oldest son, just before getting his driver’s license, summed it up perfectly. “Grandma throws gravel on all the kids when she takes off from the drop-off line at school. I think she’s grinding out in 1st gear. She should probably try not to pop the clutch.” Thank you for the memories, mom. You drove a smile right through my heart.