*This is a work of nonfiction based on actual events as told to me by a family member, who experienced them firsthand; used with permission.
My father loved his convertible like some people love their children. He hated to allow anyone to drive it, especially my mother. That car was his baby, and he was a single dad.
My father drove a 1959 convertible Ford Fairlane with a white exterior and an aqua-blue interior. He refused to allow my mother to drive that car until one day he needed her to do him a favor.
I've never seen the car, not even in photographs, but it sounds amazing. I wouldn't let anyone else drive it either.
My father had purchased a large folding door, and he needed to return it to the store. My mother couldn't walk the door back to the store or carry it on the bus, so my father decided to permit her to drive his convertible with the large folding door sticking out of it back to the lumberyard where he'd purchased it.
The box that contained the door was six feet tall. So my mother had to drive with the convertible top down like it or not. It was the only way the box and the folding door stored within would fit.
It was a breezy day, and the wind threatened to pick up the cardboard box holding the door and sail it into the air like a kite. My mother was thankful when she arrived at the lumberyard even if she was slightly less thankful when she learned she would have to carry the cumbersome folding door across the parking lot herself.
She managed to get the door inside the building after getting trapped against the exterior wall by the wind a few times, and then she had to retrace her steps with the replacement door.
The wind was even stronger when I left the lumberyard with the new door. When my husband came home and saw that I had exchanged the folding door, he was delighted. 'Now you can stop begging me to drive my car,' he said, 'because you've already driven it.'
My mother didn't think driving the convertible to the lumberyard and back with a folding door as a passenger counted as a joy ride, but my father remained firm. He never let her drive that car again.
So, the question remains: Was my father wrong for refusing to allow my mother to drive his car except for the one time he let her drive it to do him a favor? I think so.
When it comes to the question of whether or not a man should allow his wife to drive his car, the answer is a resounding “Yes!” Not only is it an act of trust and respect, but also one that shows true equality between partners.
For starters, allowing your wife to drive your car indicates that you do not feel threatened by her being in control. It indicates that you are secure in your relationship and are not worried about her making any reckless decisions. Additionally, it reinforces the message that men and women are considered equals; you both have equal rights to use the car and can both make decisions regarding its use.
What do you think? Comments are welcome.
Why would you want to Buy Me a Coffee? I am a full-time writer and a full-time unpaid caregiver to my 82-year-old father, who lives with Parkinson's. Your tip or donation allows me to provide for his care and comfort around the clock while working from home. Thank you.
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