Turn Left At Oy Vey

As opposed to what?

Today I'll be making an early morning outing.  Did I say early?  Make that very early.  I'm leaving the house around 6:15 to pick up a certain someone who needs to be somewhere by 8.  Maybe I should leave at 6, just in case. Try to contain your jealousy.  I know, I know.  You wish you could join me at Cedars for the much-dreaded driving assessment.  No, not mine.  I've just about figured out how to parallel park.  "It'll be fun," I keep telling my dad.  For some reason, he doesn't believe me.  "They're going to put you in a simulator and test your vision and your reflexes.  It'll be just like when you were in the Air Force, training to be a navigator."  He's not buying that, either.  He thinks his driving is just fine.  After all, he took the DMV test again a few years ago, and he passed.  But listen, things have changed a bit.  The navigational skills have gone slightly south, and I say that with love.  Better to be safe, etc.  And so, today's assessment.  Doctor's orders.  I keep telling him that, too.  Not that he believes me.  At 92, the Old Stubborn Brooklyn Jew wants to keep driving.  He's not ready to admit defeat, not willing to give up an iota of independence.  I get it.  I applaud it.  It drives me crazy. These days, my brothers and I find ourselves in tricky paternal territory with no road map to guide us.  All we can do is proceed with caution and wait for the light to change. So please, wave hellody if you see me drive by.  I'll be the one listening to NPR, wondering where everyone's going so early in the morning.  Did I say early?  Make that very early.