Golf Cart Hell Ride

When I was a kid, my mother told me she had poor depth-perception. I had noticed the bruises on her legs from running into our coffee table, and I knew she didn't have a driver's license, but I never put the two together.

Having mastered the technique of mentioning places she'd like to go in order to indirectly request rides, she's relied on the good will of my father for transportation throughout their marriage.

I heard through a family member that she almost drowned herself and my nephew in one of the alligator-infested canals that line the glorified trailer park where my parents spend their winters last year.

We were on a golf cart ride one sunny afternoon when I asked her to tell me about it. She pointed out the spot where it happened. She had tried to make a U-turn between two canals, but miscalculated. The golf cart started sliding down an embankment into the murky water, and she and my nephew jumped off either side.

She woke my father up from a nap to let him know, and they went back to find the golf cart almost completely submerged. My father told me it still works although it "doesn't sound quite the same."

After hearing this story, I'm thankful she doesn't have a license. If this is the kind of trouble she gets into with a golf cart, who knows what would happen if she ever got behind the wheel of a car, or, God help us, an SUV. I could picture her trying to explain away the orange road barrier that had attached itself to her muffler after she ran it over.

"I thought there was a speed bump there!" She would tell my father after he got an angry phone call regarding the neighbors dachshund.

She used to go on and on about how she wanted a segway, but I'm not sure if even that is a good idea.