Forgive Me

By twenty-one I had rebuilt three dead cars from this yard or that barn but had never owned any of them. I bought this one with my own savings. I did not ask permission so there was no advice from my parents, only grim silence. The old ‘66 Mustang only had the straight six, no a/c, no FM or stereo, had junkyard hubcaps (which Sandy called baby moons), and was on its third paint job, a dark turquoise over coral pink over a mystery factory color. I paid $500 cash to a passing stranger from Utah who took six months to mail me the title. I drove it for a year before we married and a year afterwards, with no registration, no inspection sticker, expired out of state license plates, and no insurance. No one ever found out because it couldn’t go fast enough to warrant a traffic stop. When we sold it, the buyer took his son and I on a test drive where I heard a body part fall off the front end! I turned to look out the back window and there was the chrome running mustang bouncing down the street. I turned back holding my breath. They had not noticed it amongst all the other rattling bits. He gave me $450 and I signed the unregistered title over, not knowing that jumping the taxman would prevent him from registering the title in his name. But, it never came back to me. He probably slipped a $5 bill to the clerk.

The things we did that we pray our own kids never have to. God forgives me because he sees all. He knows I drew the hand called trial and error. It’s not a bad deal but it wears me down because it shortchanges the ones I love. I know, it’s not something to worry about. But I pray my then wife has forgotten a few things and I hope my daughters forgive me for asking if they are taking care of business. They can’t see the map in my mind, the one marking where the all bodies are buried. 

I always imagined when I was a kid that adults had some kind of inner toolbox full of shiny tools: the saw of discernment, the hammer of wisdom, the sandpaper of patience. But then when I grew up I found that life handed you these rusty bent old tools - friendships, prayer, conscience, honesty - and said 'do the best you can with these, they will have to do'. And mostly, against all odds, they do. - Anne Lamott