|My father and Steve Elliott behind Steve's museum in Tombstone.|
When it came to making the turn from Meechem onto Suddreth, he went into the other lane and nearly ran a guy off the road.
As soon as they reached Cattle Baron, and my mother waited for him to park, she told me what he did. She said the guy nearly had a wreck avoiding him.
That's when you pull the plug on driving. No more. No more tries. It's over.
The way I know it's over is because all my poor father could do was complain about how bad the road was. The turn wasn't good. The other driver was terrible. This has always been part of my list to decide when either parent needed to stop driving.
It's normal, when you screw up, to give a sheepish little wave and admit you screwed up - and be thankful you did not cause a wreck. When you blame the other person for your screw up, it's time to turn in the keys.
My father has been driving since he was about 12 or so. This is terribly sad. He is/was an incredible driver, logging so darn many miles between South Carolina and Florida over a forty year period. He still thinks he can drive. We keep telling him it is on his medical records - no driving. (Actually he can drive if we are with him, and we think he can - forget that).
Nana told him if he wanted to drive, now his insurance rates would go way up. Since Glenn, her son, is our agent, that helped, for the day. The poor thing just doesn't remember why he can no longer drive.
It is so sad. There are times when life just plain old sucks. This is one of them.