The Aggressive Driver

On Veterans Day, I always think about three people: My Dad, who spent a year in Vietnam, my grandpa, who spent the last few years of WWII aboard fighting ships in the South Pacific, and my Uncle Kim, a Marine, who served three tours in Vietnam.

Uncle Kim never talked about his time in Vietnam.  Only once did I ever know of him saying anything about it.  He was leaving the movie theater with his wife.  They had just seen Saving Private Ryan.  He turned to his wife and said simply, “That was the most realistic war movie I’ve ever seen.”

That was it.  End of conversation.

Of course he had seen all of them, including ones about the war he was personally involved with: Full Metal Jacket, Platoon, etc., but none was as accurate as this one about a war that ended before he was even born.

In the past two years, my grandpa and my uncle have passed away.  I still think about them on Veterans Day, and of course at other times as well.  My grandpa had countless tools, an unquenchable desire for perfection, and handwriting that was very hard to read.  Kim was a big, man’s man, the father of four great children, and a very aggressive driver.

Kim was also a very aggressive driver who liked to drive.  More accurately, he liked to be going someplace.  He rode horses, bicycles, and for a long time, drove an old Chevy Astro, the most aggressive minivan on the road.  I don’t know what it is about that particular van that brings out the aggressive side of drivers, but ever since my first ride in Kim’s Astro, I have never seen one that wasn’t going fast, swerving through traffic, or otherwise doing something most people would consider overly aggressive.

On Veterans Day this year I woke up a little late.  Just before I finally hauled myself out of bed, I had a quick dream about my Uncle Kim.  The dream was short, but very memorable.  I was standing on the side of the wide, main road, near his old neighborhood.  I was waiting for something or someone coming from the East.  I turned momentarily toward the west and noticed a van coming up the hill.  A Chevy Astro to be more specific.  It was all white with no windows except the three front ones. 

There at the wheel was my uncle, leaning forward aggressively, the driver side window open with his elbow hanging out.  He turned and made eye contact with me for several long seconds, but he didn’t stop or even slow down a bit.  We held eye contact as long as possible before he turned his attention back to the road.  And off he was gone as quickly as he came.

No, cool as it would be, I don’t really think my uncle’s off, cruising around Heaven in a celestialized version of the old van.  But, I do think he’s busy at whatever it is you do when you get there.

I’ve thought some the past few days of the fleeting nature of our lives, of our relationships, and of our very existence.  It interests me how we can be actively and anxiously doing one thing on minute, and then quickly move onto something entirely different and equally as important the next, never thinking again about the last, big important thing.  Sometimes I wonder if it’s all really so important after all.

There’s so much to do each day, so much pulling us this way and that, so many people with so many agendas.  So many distractions.

Kim wasn’t distracted by me.  He saw me, he made sure that I knew he saw me, and he kept on rolling.  He had stuff to do, places to go, and a singleness of purpose that bordered on overly aggressive.

Maybe he was saying life is too short to get distracted.  Do what you need to do, acknowledge the people that need to be acknowledged, but focus, get going, put the pedal down and don’t let up, no matter what, and no matter who crosses your path.  Just keep going.  Decide where you are going, get going, and just keep going.  But always, no matter where, or what, or with whom, you should always have the window down and be enjoying the ride.

How about you?  What are you working on that maybe can - or should be dropped for something more important?

Clark