“And yet, to be honest, when I now think back to the
death-defying days of riding with my father,
I always find myself smiling.”
terror at word that “Big
Ray,” the great White Chief
from Brooklyn, was on the
road again.
But my father, God bless
him, was never deterred. As
long as he had his Chevy,
he cheerfully offered his
services as driver. I wonder
if he ever caught on to the
fact that over the years his
passengers were limited
to my mother, who didn’t
drive, and whichever of his
children hadn’t yet received
a driver’s license. All other
possible passengers always
had a plausible reason to
explain why there was –
and I quote – “absolutely
no need for you to trouble
yourself by picking us up,
Ray. No need at all.”
I could continue relating
my remembrances of various
driving experiences with
my father, for example,
his belief that you always
faced forward and never, ever took your eyes off the road
ahead of you, not even when you were backing up, and also
that the sighting of a red light from a distance of 1,000 feet
required you to brake immediately and then inch your way
ever so slowly to the stop light while people in every other
car on the road turned and stared at you in disbelief and
amazement, but I won’t.
Relating the tale of the Hawthorne Circle has been
traumatic enough for me. No need to recount additional
escapades. And yet, to be honest, when I now think back to
the death-defying days of riding with my father, I always find
myself smiling. You see, my days and nights on the road with
28 • Saint David’s Magazine
“Big Ray,” oddly enough,
taught me two wonderful
things.
First, they confirmed
to me that there is a God.
Only a Supreme Being
who cares deeply for us all
could have miraculously
delivered my father and
his passengers and indeed
everyone else on the road
safely to their destinations
w it hout i ncident or
accident. Second, they
taught me that some of
the things that parents
do, things that can be so
completely and utterly
embarrassing, are the very
things that a daughter or
son remembers with great
affection.
As a teenage passenger
in my father’s car, I was so
mortified by his driving
that I often slunk way
down in my seat to avoid
b e i n g re c og n i z e d by
others, especially my friends. Now, I remember only his
love of going places and doing things and his willingness to
make it possible for anyone who wanted to join in the fun to
do so. He may have been clueless when it came to driving,
but he was wise in how to live life to the fullest.
So, boys, promise me that you’ll do two things. First,
be patient with your parents. They may not be perfect at
everything they do or attempt to do, but then neither is any
one of us. Second, be sure to take driving lessons. Just please
don’t sign up at the “Big Ray” School of Driving. M
Nanc y Ianni celli i s Chair of Hum aniti es at Saint
David’s School.