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Ned’s Bad Day
The gear that he intended was reverse,
But to his detriment, he put the car
In drive. At least he didn’t get too far;
And all in all, it could’ve been much worse.
The only other “victim” was a tree,
A pine that Ned had scraped along the side.
He’d peeled away some bark that was its hide,
While Ned complained about his aching knee.
The need to take his keys was evident.
They towed the car away—a crumpled mess.
Poor Ned, of course, was clearly in distress.
“That’s it!” his daughter said. The accident
Was not the first, but it would be the last—
Ned’s happy days of driving now have passed.
.
.
Cheryl Corey is a poet who lives in Connecticut. “Three Sisters,” her trio of poems about the sisters of Fate which were first published by the Society of Classical Poets, are featured in “Gods and Monsters,” an anthology of mythological poems (MacMillan Children’s Books, 2023).
I can only wonder what inspiration triggered your poem about “Ned’s Bad Day.” It was simultaneously breathtaking, funny, and sad.
Roy, this is based on a true incident at a senior/community center. Fortunately, he didn’t hit any other car or person. Sadly, it also affected his lady friend, who relied on him for transportation. She’s now having to rely on public transit, ubers, and the goodwill of friends.
A neatly composed sonnet, telling its story in clear and straightforward language. When a poem is primarily a narrative, this is the best choice.
My father had a similar experience. He had been driving ever since his teenage years without any incident at all. But when he was 76, he had a very close call that could have been a major accident. The next day he gave his car keys to my brother and said “The car is yours. I may ask you to drive me places every so often, but I will never get behind the wheel again. I don’t trust my reflexes.”
Your father had courage, as well as common sense. To surrender the keys/license represents a huge loss of freedom and independence. You can know in your mind that it’s the right thing to do, but it still has to be a gut-wrenching decision.
It took a serious accident for Prince Philip (Queen Elizabeth II’s husband) to give up driving – when he was 97. It can be a difficult thing to give up on many levels: admission that you’re not as able as before, relying on others or public transport to get places, the resultant diminishment of your social life. Of course other opportunities can open up. Getting a pet, taking walks, finding new hobbies and meeting new people.
As with Joseph, my father had to eventually realise he shouldn’t drive any more.
Thanks for the succinct, thought-provoking narrative poem-tale, Cheryl.
Now that you mention it, I remember the incident with the Prince. Losing one’s license can be a devastating life change for seniors in particular, and there’s a ripple effect for the families as well. My own father is 86 and still seems to be okay driving. Fingers crossed.
Cheryl, your skillful poem certainly tells a story that many can relate to.
My mother was a strong willed woman with Parkinson’s disease; she thought she could continue to drive at 90 ….exasperated with her, I resorted to having her physician advise her, she needed to hand her keys over to me.
It is hard to spend a lifetime of being independent and than having to surrender.
Paulette, I’m sorry you had to take such measures, but it’s probably a lot more common than we realize. Last year I sat through an AARP program to get a small credit deducted from car insurance (four hours – ugh), but it covered a lot of information that affects our ability to drive – eyesight, hearing, reflexes – even minor details such as mirror adjustment and seat height matter.
Dear Cheryl,
I love a poem can tell a story. Children’s books do it all the time, but we adults enjoy such a pleasure, too.
Ted’s Bad Day is relatable to me as well. My dad had multiple wrecks before we got his keys from him. I am reminded again to pray that I will be easy when it is time for my children to take my keys.
Gigi
Gigi, I know you’ll make it easier on your children after going through it with your dad. It was just unfortunate that it took multiple wrecks, as you say, and not just a one-off. I can’t believe how many SCP readers have been sharing this type of story; but then, perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised at all. I wonder if it’s harder for men to cede control of their car ….
To deal with your question about men and women, let me say this: my father had been driving since 1928, and that was not just cars but also heavy trucks. During World War II he drove jeeps and other military vehicles under combat conditions. He was such a good driver that in the 1930s he was hired by the Department of Motor Vehicles as an official driving instructor for persons who wanted to qualify for getting a driver’s license.
Nevertheless, when he had that close call at the age of 76, it shook him up. He knew that the perceptions and reflexes that he had enjoyed in 1944 were simply not as good as they once had been. When he gave the car to my brother I’m sure he was upset and troubled, but he understood that aging was inevitable, and he didn’t want to be the cause of some tragedy on the road.
There were other men of our acquaintance who were not like that. They were stubborn, and took it as a deep affront to their self-image when told that they had to stop driving. But some women can be the same way. My aunt is 95, and she is humiliated and mortified that she cannot drive any longer. Just seven years ago (2018) she was sharp enough to drive all alone from New England to New York City to attend a family function.
Tempus fugit.
I have noticed that when a senior citizen (and I am one) drives through a storefront, the resulting explanation is that the engine “began racing”. Now other than certain Toyota models, the actual reason is obvious. And how does one lose accurate gross motor control in the right leg after perhaps sixty years of driving experience Sadly, it’s just a matter of growing old, tired sore legs, and reduced reaction time. On the other hand, you can learn things you never knew, write a poem or a story, or maybe call someone up.you’ve neglected.
Enjoyed the poem and the comments! We’re all heading in that direction.
A very clearly and well-told story, Cheryl, both matter-of-fact and compassionate.
Completely relatable story, Cheryl, expertly told. Great job!