A Hidden Key

Streaks of light darted through the lumpy low hanging gray clouds lighting up parts of the road and leaving others dark and foreboding. The rain hadn’t come yet but it was threatening and I drove faster to get my 6 months pregnant wife to the place of her greatest comfort … the Burlington Mall.

The year was 1983 and Kathy was pregnant with Matthew. Active, and always moving, Kathy would not let a life changing event like pregnancy get in the way of shopping for Christmas. For Kathy, buying Christmas gifts was a magical combination of art, science and hustle. For me, shopping was only one thing – torture.

I pulled into the parking lot and observed the madness of cars frantically looking for parking spots close to the buildings while keeping a wary eye on the impending storm. I paused for a moment and got the honk of a horn somewhere behind me, so much for being cautious.

We drove the rows and columns of the lot until Kathy declared, “There’s one, over there!” but it was too late. After several more minutes of hunting, Kathy asked, “Are you trying to get close to the mall because I’m pregnant? If you are, forget it and just park, already!”

The message was clear. Anything she did before, she could do now so stop babying her!

We parked at an available spot and I wondered if there were shuttle busses to the mall entrance! My 11 year old red Toyota Carina settled between the white lines and Kathy and I both looked at the cold gray clouds as they started to spit. I turned off the car and lay the keys on the console between us.

“Wait for it to pass?” I asked while looking up.

 “It looks like once it starts, it’s going to go for a while,” she commented.

“You’re probably right,” I responded.

“We’ve got to hurry to beat the rain, let’s go!” she cried.

I jumped out and slammed my door. She jumped out and slammed her door. Both doors were locked. I looked at the console and there were the keys! Damn! Kathy started walking and I caught up to her.

“Yeah, there is a slight problem,” I started.

“What problem?” she said huffing as she spied the mall entrance ahead.

“Uh, well the keys are locked in the car.”

She stopped dead. The wind whipped her blond curls about her face. For a brief moment, I feared the wrath of my pregnant wife.

“Ok, well, we’ll figure it out after we’re done shopping.”

She was not to be denied.

We entered the mall through large glass doors and the windswept rain began. When the doors closed behind me, I became a virtual shopping puppy; on a leash being dragged from store to store. I thought about the keys locked in the car and decided we could check with security but that would have to wait until Kathy was done shopping.

With Kathy’s craving for shopping abated, we visited the security office and explained our problem. The guy smiled and to my surprise, offered to help. The next thing we knew, he has a Slim Jim in his hand and the keys to a security cart. A Slim Jim is a thin metal blade about 24 inches long. It slides down the window slot and hooks a cable that can unlock the door. A simple device if you know what you are doing.

The rain had stopped for the moment and we followed the security cart out to the car. They said their lawyers and insurance wouldn’t allow my pregnant wife to ride on their cart. I wondered if I could ride on the cart since all that shopping had made me feet sore but I didn’t dare ask.

We avoided the puddles and took note of the darkening sky to the southwest. Rain was on its way again.

“Is this your car?” asked the more senior security guard.

“Yes,”  I nodded.

“Can you prove it? I mean, if this doesn’t work, you might have to break a window. So, how do I know this is your car?”

“Look at it, would I choose this car to steal?”

He looked at the faded red paint job, the rusting wheel wells, and the way the back windows were kept closed with rope and nodded that if I were a car thief, I wouldn’t steal this car.

It had been a great car for me. My parents bought it new in 1972 before the oil embargo. Hardly anyone was buying those cheap Japanese cars when gas was so inexpensive but my father peered into his crystal ball and saw trouble with the Arab oil cartel. He traded in his gas guzzler for the gas miser long before the gas prices rose. I bought it 5 years later to commute to college and various jobs that allowed me to take Kathy out to dinner or the movies.

The car was very dependable but the owner, me, was not! I was forever running out of gas or locking my key inside. The back window clasps cracked from the winter cold and I tied them shut with rope. The trunk had old tennis balls that rolled around when I took corners.

So we stood there as the rookie security guard made an attempt at unlocking my car. He inserted the blade deep and pulled up. Over and over again, he tried without success. Ten minutes later, another guard tried his best as the spitting rain became fat drops dancing in the puddles. Kathy got under a small umbrella that the rookie security guard held but it did little good as the wind increased and the rain soaked her legs and her plump belly.

I felt like an idiot. I stood there helpless as the rain increased and soaked me to the bone as each security guard made their assault on unlocking my car.

The senior security guard turned to me red-faced, “Some of these foreign cars,” he started, “the Slim Jim just doesn’t work on them.”

The wind blew the umbrella back and Kathy cried out in surprise as the rain pelted her mid section.

Several thoughts ran through me in that briefest of moments. I sucked as a human being. I didn’t deserve to be on earth let along married to Kathy and even worse, someday I was going to be a father. I was irresponsible, no good, and stupid. Every negative, lack-of-self-esteem thought or memory jumped to life at that moment to beat me down.

I took the Slim Jim and slid it into the slot by the window and kept sliding it up and down. Nothing. Desperate I tried again. Nothing.

The rain increased and I was soaked. The security guards had had enough.

“Look fella, do you have somebody you can call and get a key? I mean, we’ve got to get back to our jobs and I don’t think we can help anymore. I can show you where the payphones are so you can call somebody.”

I looked at the car and shook my head. I’d have to break a window. Kathy thanked the guys and they drove off in the rain. A few streaks of mascara lined Kathy’s face. Suddenly, I wanted to put my fist through the window. I was angry at myself for being so stupid as to leave the keys locked in the car.

I thought I had matured. I thought I was over those teenage years where you DO first and THINK second. Shit, I was 24 years old and it had been years since I’d run out of gas or locked my keys in my car!

My hands were numb and I wondered how Kathy felt. I pulled out my pocket knife, and with shaking hands opened it and slipped it through the back window. I sawed for a few minutes and cut the rope holding the window together. 

Thunder boomed and the cold rain poured down as I leaned half my body in the car, grabbed a coat hanger and hooked my keys pulling them out of the car. I unlocked Kathy’s side and ran around and dove into my side and started the car.

The moisture of the rain on our clothes and hair had completely fogged up the windows. We waited for the defroster to kick in.

I didn’t want to look at her. I didn’t want to see the anger in her eyes or worse yet, the disappointment that might register there. I didn’t want to feel her disapproval rip my soul out. Instead, she grabbed my chin and pulled me toward her. She kissed me and I knew all was good.

Forgiveness is good. Forgiving another is great. Forgiving yourself is difficult but rewarding.

In that moment, I felt all of these things through Kathy’s forgiveness of me Suddenly the rain soaked clothes and the our chattering teeth didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but that feeling of love from my wife.

The defroster cleared a small patch of the windshield and I confessed to Kathy, “Honey, I don’t know what happened. I thought I was better than this. I thought that I had beaten that immature behavior. I don’t know. I’m sorry for getting you soaking wet and cold.”

She smiled, “It is over. It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s not like we lost a limb out there, we just got a little wet and a little cold. We’re in the car, it’s warming up and soon we’ll be home and I’ll make us some soup!”

I chuckled and she continued, “Yeah, you used to lock yourself out of your car all the time but it’s been a while, hasn’t it? When was the last time you locked yourself out?”

“I don’t know,” I responded thoughtfully. “It was a while ago, I know that ... I did something to stop it, I paused in thought. "Actually, I haven’t locked myself out of my car in a very long time … let me see … I know! I haven’t locked myself out since I had that spare key made …  and … put … it … in … my … wallet …”

Who Are We?

I'm sitting in my living room listening to the roaring fire in the fireplace, the spinning cycle of the washing machine and the tick-tock of our wind-up clock on he wall. It's been a pretty good day with 8 inches of new snow shoveled, a 3 mile walk, 30 minutes in the hot tub, and now a fire in the fireplace and a glass of red wine at my fingertips. A startlingly red cardinal just flew down to the bird feeder outside the window and all seems right in my world. 

The kicker for all of this was that Matthew was up and stayed the night. We all ate out at a Mexican restaurant last night and played a few rounds of MarioKart. Today, we cleared the snow from the driveway and went in the hot tub again. 

We loaded up his car with gear for his new apartment and I stood at the door as he left our house. It is always tough to see your children leave. I threw a few snowballs at his car; watched him laugh (I missed) ... but I stood there ... waiting ... and then stood there watching him leave. I stood there until his blue Subaru was gone and I stood there a few moments longer. 

When I was a kid, a bit more than a few years ago, we would visit Nanny and Banky at 16 Gerry Street for a holiday or just for a Sunday afternoon. Jeanne, Kenny and I would play around in the old house for hours running up and down the stairs and in and out of the many little rooms that made up the magical old house. For all the times we visited, when we left, Nanny would stand at the curb and wave to us as we drove away. We'd be all the way up to the end of the street and she would still stand there watching us go. I know because I would watch her out the back window as we drove away (before seat belts, of course).

And now I do this. I don't do this consciously, I just do it. It seems that I "inherited" something from Nanny.

As I entered grade school, the neighborhood kids taught me the things you can say and the things you can't. I already knew about "damn" and "hell" but they taught me other words. I still remember thinking about it. They were words I didn't know so would I have ever said them anyway? So, a couple of neighborhood kids taught me nasty words and then they showed me their middle finger. "Definitely DON'T use your middle finger! That's a swear, too!"

At the age of 6, this left me totally confused. My dad seemed to always point with his middle finger and I'd never heard him use any of those bad words! The years wore on and I didn't use the swear-words. I was always careful with my fingers but my dad kept pointing with his middle finger! I was 13 and we were going to go canoeing. We're looking at a map and he said, "We'll put in here, and portage there, and take out there." ... pointing with his middle finger at each spot. He was always swearing with his middle finger. Didn't he know that it was a swear??

Many more years have gone by and I've obviously learned more about the way my dad uses his middle finger ... it's not up ... and that has taught me a lot about intent. The above photo shows a woman pointing with her middle finger. The woman in the picture is a great Aunt of some sort ... of my father. Did he "inherit" something, directly or indirectly from her?

We all inherit characteristics and traits from our parents. The obvious ones are those that are on the human genome but we also inherit characteristics and traits from our family, friends, and acquaintances. 

These things we've learned and adopted become part of who we are and we use many of them daily. We don't always know where they came from and sometimes we do. Today, I remembered my grandmother, Elinor May Cleary aka Nanny, for the briefest of moments as Matthew backed down our driveway and I wondered what she was thinking when she stood there waving to us as we drove away.