NO FEAR HERE

  Soon, my body will succumb to a lifetime of neglect and abuse and malfunction, making me a menace behind the wheel. Then I'll hear mumbled conversations behind my back--by my children--trying to figure out how to get the car keys away from me. But, I ain't worried. Here's why.

  Once received a call from a friend named Bert in Port Royal. Bert asked if I could come down and see him. Said there was some urgency. He'd meet me outside his house on Galleon Drive. Arrived and saw Bert, waving me to the curb. He rushed over and jumped in my car. After greeting him, I asked the problem.

  "It's Dad," he said. "He's 93 now and insists on driving. And he. . .well, if you have a few minutes you'll see. He drives down to the clubhouse every morning about this time. Gotta get his startup toddy. He. . ." --stopping, looking at the house,then--". . .here he comes now."

  A stooped, frail, ancient dude emerged from the front door. Maybe emerged is too active a verb. Snailed through would be more descriptive. He inched along like a mummy with the gout. It took him ten minutes to negotiate the distance between his front door and the Lincoln in his driveway. Short sessions of hobbling along, were interrupted with rest stops, leaning on his cane. I didn't think he was going to make it. But he did.

  At the car, he struggled to get the door open, then slowly folded himself into the seat. Seated, he began lifting his legs, with his hands, over the desired pedals. It was obvious this old gent shouldn't be allowed at the controls of a hospital bed.

  "See what I'm talking about?" my friend said.  "We've tried to convince him he needs to give up the car but he won't hear of it. Say's he has a perfect driving record and if he ever has an accident, he'll quit then."

  "Common problem," I said.

 "But, he's going to kill himself, or someone else."

  "Think I can help," I said. "They have a new law allowing cops to request a re-examination of suspect drivers. Cases just like this. You get me his DL number and I'll call it in."
 "Okay," Bert said, "I'll get it this afternoon when the toddies put him to sleep."
  He was good to his word and I made the arrangements for the re-test.
  A month later, Bert called again. "What the hell kind of operation are they running down there?" he said.
  "Why," I asked.
 "He got the notice, went down there, and passed the damn test."
  And he had! I inquired of the examiner how the hell that could happen.
 "The State's always making these new rules, rules that we don't have the money or time to implement. So we just give them an eye test, no driving. Most old folks fail that. But, your guy had eyes like an eagle.
 "And the body and reflexes of King Tut," I said, disgusted.
 But, the problem solved itself a couple of weeks later. Tutankhamun got in his car in the garage, put it in backwards, and drove through the partition between his garage and kitchen, killing his dishwasher, range, and a nifty Ronco Veg-O-Matic.
 So, getting old? What me worry? I had my cataracts taken off two years ago.