Teaching Delmar To Drive

About six months ago, my neighbor across the alley, came over to my house. This was a surprise to me as he is, overall, self-contained and shy. I knew he came over for a reason. He is a shameless smoker. He lit up on the back deck and forced himself down on a stool. It was six inches to the stool. He landed on it in a heap, as if he fell out of an airplane.

I knew he wanted something. I also knew that my attempts to reach out to him over the year, preceded this visit. A colon cancer placed him in a serious protocol that crushed his hope, isolated him, reduced his mobility, and masked his easy-going personality with anger. He had resisted all my attempts to get him to take errands with me, to talk and visit across the backyard fence, and respond to my inquiries as to whether he needed anything. His silence took me to enter his house without knocking, to sit on a worn linoleum floor, in order to look up at his face while I talked. During these visits, he would never look at me, managing a steady gaze at the TV, placed on the top of the refrigerator. He never spoke. When forced, he responded to a question or inquiry with a one word reply.

He was trapped in his grief, and helplessness. He imagined that his life, as he knew it, was over.
He was cut up, and sent away with a plastic bag attached to side. This bag was the focal point of of his rage. Refusing to cooperate with predictability, the bag ran his life. Spastically filling with a vengence, falling off to deposit its contents down the leg of his pants, defying all glue and velcro, the bag symbolized the end of control, the familar comfort range of life, and his ability to live without water, soap, and access to a bathroom.

I told myself that I continued my attempts because I needed breaks from my studying. I was as isolated as he was. My friends had fallen off, and my reading encased me. I was filled with anxiety concerning my curriculm. I had entered a world that appeared to have definition, theology. But as yet, this world was being defined by others. It was not my experience. I was reading about the experiences of others, pertinent to God and the God relationship. Fifteen minutes...trying to visit Delmar...gave me a clear pause. And removed me for a tiny moment, from knowing and feeling that God was not my best subject.

Delmar finally huffed out what he wanted while drawing in and exhaling a long stream of smoke. "I want to get my driver's license before I die. I want you to teach me the driver's manual so I can get my permit. Then I want you to teach me to drive." That is all he said. Then he stared at me. Being stared at by Delmar is rather disconcerting, as one eye is not lined up with the other. He had polio as a child, and his right side was useless. His right hand curled and frozen, his right leg and foot, deaf to the neurological transmitters.
I am sure there was some pause in my response, as I considered his body. I know I met his stare. I don't know how much time passed before I said, "okay."

Again, this all happened about six months ago. I was not a relaxed tutor when it came to studying the manual. I didn't know if Delmar could read. So rather than asking him if he could read, I set up the lessons to be visual. Over the weeks, I ascertained his reading ability. He had no experience with test taking. He knew nothing about the subtleties of the multiple choice test. I constructed dozens of multiple choice tests. I failed as a supportive instructor, often raising my voice when pointing out the pit-falls and explaining, 'yes, this answer is correct, but this answer is more correct.' I told him to stop thinking up his own creative defense for why he selected the answer he had, and just answer the damn question. A final description of my teaching technique is me screaming in the family room: "A STOP SIGN MEANS STOP. PLAIN AND SIMPLE. IF THERE IS A STOP SIGN, YOU MUST STOP. NOT: IF THIS OR IF THAT. JUST BECAUSE THERE ARE NO OTHER CARS AROUND DOES NOT MEAN YOU DO NOT HAVE TO STOP!" After that session, I smoked a cigarette.
The first time Delmar took the permit test, he scored 40 out of 50. He did well, but flunked. You can only get 8 incorrect answers. The test supervisor let us go over the test, at the site.
I raised my voice when looking at his idiotic answers. Again, he was making the rules up as he wanted them to be. To me, the correct answer was obvious. I was told by the supervising officer, to lower my voice, as other people were taking the test. Following this, the tutoring became more intense. And I am sure, firmer and more animated. I had Delmar nailed to the table.

He passed the second time. His score was nearly perfect. His photograph was not. It was a sterling moment. At age 70, Delmar's masculine ego was finally intact.
And it showed.

I am now teaching Delmar to drive. He has nearly killed us twice. On three occasions, I forced him to pull over, threw him out of the van, ended the lesson and took the wheel. I have gritted my teeth, clenched my fingers together in fists, grabbbed my pant legs in a frightened clutch, tried to look at the scenery, and tried to distract myself with drinking coffee. On nearly every outing, I have sworn I would quit as the 'driving instructor.' While a passenger, I have made my will out several times, and calculated the cost of side-swiping a new car. I have dripped sweat at the sight of a deer, three girls crossing an intersection, and a cardboard box in our lane. I have sworn vulgar words into phrases that no one has uttered before. I have taken Delmar driving when I was sure that no other car would be on the road. Meaning, he is driving at 4:30 in the morning. I have considered riding in the back of the van, but decided against this the day that he let go of the wheel and swerved us in front of a dump truck.

Why am I telling this story?

When encased in the emotional reality of an end, and an unwanted evolution, a wounded man taught me courage. When completely destroyed and frozen, without any sign of outward movement, Delmar re-upped for life. When he had lost everything, he decided to go to a place where he had always been denied. He decided to do this in his darkest moment, a life gone and a future life without hope. He went into the dark cave of a roaring lion, and said, 'I pick you.' He has stayed with a fierce, demanding and flawed teacher. He has never said no to where this instructor has taken him...the busiest and most dense environments, the quiet, soft woods, the freeway, and the rolling, expansive hills of Wisconsin. He constructed something that took him out of his pain, out of his loss, and out of his ended life. Why he did it...the timing... fails explanation. However, the lesson is not lost on me.

If there is a God, this God blessed me six months ago, by defining courage and pointing the path...which is fearless action

in the throes of grief.