Poor Boy’s Dream

IMG_2232 Wednesday, December 9, 2015: My mom got a Cadillac for Christmas this year. I didn’t give it to her—I only delivered it—and it isn’t really my kind of car, either. I drive a rusty Subaru Outback with a Bernie Sanders sticker on the back hatch. Whatever. Giving your mom a Cadillac is still every poor boy’s dream.

Elvis got his mom a Cadillac in 1955, just as he was hitting it big, even though she didn’t have a driver’s license. Last year, GM donated a pink Escalade to Terry Bridgewater to give to his mom, just after the Minnesota Vikings signed him. A Cadillac is a signal that you’ve finally made it. It’s more than money: it’ s class.

It was shaping up to be a low-key Christmas. My children are grown and have busy lives in Philadelphia and Manhattan. My daughter is a medical resident who works all the time. This was going to be the first year when everyone couldn’t make it home to Ithaca. So we agreed to meet and exchange gifts in a hotel on December 20, her nearest day off. December 25 was going to be a quiet day for two. Tania and I were kind of sad about it, what with the passage of time and all, but it also sounded kind of nice.

Then, 16 days before the big day, my sister called. Mom’s best friend lives just up the road from you, she said, and she wants to give mom a special present. It’s a white 2003 Cadillac DeVille and it’s in great condition, except for a glitch that keeps it from passing inspection in New York.

My mom lives in Florida, and there’s no vehicle inspection law down here, my sister said. Mom’s friend has already bought herself a nice new black Caddy. She really wants to do this, but she needs a driver. We could give mom the surprise of her life. And the car’s registration expires on December 25.

My mother is 82. She used to run a farm and still drives a big diesel pickup, but now she’s having problems climbing in and out of it. It was a long fly ball to deep left field, and I knew I had to catch it. So I cleared the calendar and asked Tania.

A woman I don’t really know wants us to drive a car with 100,000 miles it to Florida a few days before Christmas, I said. My mom doesn’t know we’re coming or that she’s getting the car as a present, but I’m pretty sure she’ll love it. Let’s go for it! What could possibly go wrong?

Tania immediately thought of several major things that could go wrong, but she said she was willing to go with me anyway. This is one of her many good qualities.

Thursday, December 17: We arranged to meet the friend at the mechanic’s shop, where she was having the car cleared for takeoff. I had only met her once, but as soon as I saw her we embraced. Wow, she said. I’m so excited about giving this car to your mom. I love her to pieces, and I know she needs something easier to drive. Christmas is pretty quiet for us now, so this Cadillac caper is the high point for me.

I know, I said, me too. I’m jumping out of my skin about this. She and I were grinning and bouncing around like kids. And Tania was clearly getting into it, too.

We waved goodbye, and Tania got behind the wheel of the rusty Subaru. I got into the Caddy, adjusted the mirrors, and put it in drive.

Wow. THANKS. What a car! It’s heavy, powerful, and stable. It cruises quietly enough to let you enjoy low-volume music or have a normal-volume conversation. The seat feels a lot like first class on an airline. There are all kinds of little knobs and doohickeys that do helpful things. When you hit a bump, it rocks up and down gently, like a good-sized boat going through a wake. And when you get a clear stretch of road and put the accelerator all the way down, it leaps forward with the sensation of rising, like a powerboat skating over a calm sea. I realized that we were about to take a long cruise on a Christmas yacht.

In no time flat, Tania and I were back home, working and packing and not quite believing that this was actually going to happen. We did the annual Christmas preparations over the next two days, except this time everything we did had to fit into the car. I was surprised to find that there always seemed to be room for more.

Saturday-Tuesday, December 19-22: How times have changed. Christmas with the children was shoehorned into 24 hours and took place in restaurants and a hotel room. This could have happened twenty or even ten years ago, but back then it would have been because of some business assignment I had. Now Will and Emma are running around like their hair is on fire, and all I can do is marvel at the change. I’m proud of them, but also sorry for the things they are doing without, and I keep reminding them that this phase of their lives is only temporary.

We pointed the Caddy south around 2pm on Monday and pulled out into Interstate 95. This has to be the most boring road in the United States. The landscape is either industrial or, in the winter, bare reddish-brown trees against a slate sky. It has been 35 years since I moved away from Nokomis, so driving from the northeast to Florida on this road is a familiar ordeal. It’s easier now, thanks to several significant improvements since the old days: travel websites, an Iphone loaded with interesting music, NPR all the way down, a fun traveling companion, and of course, the Christmas yacht.

Priceline got us a deal on a nice room in Rocky Mount, North Carolina. We pulled in around 9:30pm after doing 378 miles. Slept hard. Got up the next morning and put in 472 miles in off-and-on rainstorms. It was work. The wet clay soil looks like whipped off-brand peanut butter, Tania said.

One thing you can do on I-95 these days is eat well, thanks to yelp.com. We had an outstanding lunch in Yemassee, South Carolina at an antique store that had a deli counter staffed by three extremely friendly women, Fletcher’s Finds and Finest. Then we beat it south to get to Gary Lee’s Meat Market in Brunswick, Georgia before they closed. We weren’t hungry, but this is the place to go for all kinds of barbeque, including homemade smoked sausage I planned to turn into gumbo for Christmas dinner, and the best Brunswick stew Tania has ever tasted.  She lives for Brunswick stew.

We crossed the Florida line at dusk, with about six hours to go. Mom wouldn’t be back from an errand until the next afternoon, my sister said, which gave us a couple of unplanned hours in the morning. So we found a place on Fernandina Beach, north of Jacksonville, ate take-out Brunswick stew in our room, slept even harder, and got up in time for a lazy walk on the beach.

IMG_2235(click on the photo to make it bigger) Wednesday, December 23: Another hard day, stopping only for boiled peanuts north of Starke, FL.  The car made it to Nokomis without a hitch and we got off the interstate just as dusk was falling. We wired a big bow to the hood ornament and drove into the driveway slowly. My sister was there, ensuring that mom suspected nothing.

IMG_2236It was everything we’d hoped it would be. Mom didn’t know I was coming, and she didn’t know about the car. The look on her face when she saw me was worth the trip.

Mom didn’t want her picture or her friend’s name pushed through the Google. In fact, she’d rather I didn’t post this at all.  Whatever.  Merry Christmas, mom, we love you.




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Writing about social change and how it happens.

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