Dad and Crashed Cars

My papa. An old drawing from the days of Monkey Whimsy.

My first (and only) car was a black Honda Civic that I shared with my sister.

After we graduated college and my sister moved across the country, the Honda became solely mine.

And I loved it.

That little car gave me a sense of freedom like no other.

But, after racking up about a thousand dollars worth of speeding tickets in the span of a month, I decided that my speeding car habit was getting kind of expensive so I gave the Honda to my dad.

Recently, my dad called me frantically to give me some news.

Dad: Janice, your car is gone.

Janice: What do you mean?

Dad: I was leaving work, I was tired and there was a lot of traffic on the highway. The car in front of me braked suddenly and I couldn't stop in time. I crashed into the car in front of me and ruined your car.

Janice: WHAT!! DAD, are you okay?!!

Dad: Yeah, but your car is not.

Janice: Dad, I don't care about my car, are you okay?

Dad: I'm sorry about your car.

Janice: Dad, did you go to the hospital?

Dad: No, I'm fine. Your car couldn't be saved though.

Janice: DAD, when it comes to YOU or my car, I couldn't care less about the damn car. Are you sure you're okay, no injuries? 100% OKAY?

Dad: Oh yeah yeah, I'm fine. The entire front half of your car was destroyed and unsalvageable.

Janice (giving up on steering the conversation back to my papa): That's okay, Dad.

Dad: Just wanted to tell you that the Honda is no more.

DAD, JUST GLAD YOU GOT OUT OF THE ACCIDENT UNSCATHED.

My dad clearly thought my Honda was a member of the family the way he broke the news to me.

Oh, Dad.

I do miss my bat mobile though.

It was good while it lasted.