FEBRUARY 26, 2021 – I remember the story well—how Mother backed her car into a lamp post in the parking lot next to the church, bashing the bumper and trunk lid. What impressed me most, however, was Dad’s sense of humor about it. After all, Mother had managed to back into the same lamp post about two weeks prior—smashing the bumper and trunk lid exactly as before. The local auto body shop had completed its restorative magic just a day preceding the second smack-up.
Dad was a perfectionist, and the fact that he could laugh at Mother’s double-mishap was a testament to his ability to “get over it.” Mother was embarrassed, of course, but her ability to laugh at the incident—the second one—reflected her grace, as well. Being pragmatic about the whole situation, my parents agreed that by not taking the car to the auto body shop a second time would ensure that the same run-in wouldn’t occur a third time.
Mother had her share of mistakes, often involving supper, usually burning the cooked vegetables. Invariably, Dad made the discovery and sounded the alarm. Mother would rush back to the scene of the crime, apologize, and start over. With evening newspaper still in hand, Dad would grumble and return to his chair in the living room. Life went on. No one was the worse for wear—though the same couldn’t always be said of the green beans, stuck to the bottom of a scorched pot.
Unfortunately, Mother rarely got to see Dad screw up. Part of the problem was that Dad rarely did. Unlike most of us, he actually lacked a capacity for mishaps, such as backing into a lamp post or scorching the green beans.
He once divulged, however, a funny story about a kind of mistake he’d made.
The setting was outside the elevator of a hotel where he’d been attending a day-long conference. The proceedings had concluded with a late dinner, and Dad was quite ready to head home. Before he could escape, however, he was delayed by conversations. By the time he’d gathered up his overcoat and briefcase he was among the last to leave. As he strode from the ramp elevator to his car, he realized he’d forgotten his eyeglasses—somewhere. With consternation, he turned back to the elevators.
Upon alighting from the elevator onto the hotel lobby floor, he encountered a colleague waiting to board the elevator back down to the garage. “You’re headed the wrong way, Ray,” the colleague quipped.
“I know,” said Dad. “I forgot . . .” At that very moment, Dad reflexively raised his right hand to . . . his glasses, realizing instantly, of course, that he was wearing them. Not wishing to appear as silly as he felt, he made a mid-sentence correction with “. . . something.” In telling the story, Dad laughed heartily at himself and his (rare) absent-mindedness. I laughed too. Dad had told a self-deprecating story . . . perfectly.
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© 2021 by Eric Nilsson
