Catholic Sensibility

Dale reports an alarmingly familiar adventure. I remember my brother's first visit to Iowa, long years ago, when the Bucs still inhabited the NFC Norris. Anita and I had just moved into our first home and my bro was in town with his fiancee and his son Adym from his first marriage. I had proudly scored five tix for the Vikes-TB game. So Sunday morning, we piled into my '88 Mazda 323 and headed north, despite ice and blizzard-like conditions. Recalling my previous NFL outing in Detroit in '94, I knew my brother liked to get there early and watch warm-ups, taking a few photos of goings-on. (I don't know if that violates the NFL copyright, but ...) Not only had I navigated the backroads from Waterloo, Iowa to I-35 masterfully, but despite my brother's fretting about the weather, we were going to hit the game early. But not quite early enough, I was thinking. Gotta make this trip a perfect one for my bro. Did I get slapped back. I was not content to hum along at 45mph on an icy interstate, but decided to attack the passing lane with a bit of overconfidence. Twelve to fifteen seconds later, after a bit of spinning, my little car ended upside-down in a snow bank. I crawled out of the car and once I realized everyone was safe, I jumped up and down pounding the ground with my feet in anger at myself for spoiling my brother's football adventure. My first car was spinning tires and I was looking at the underside. Anita reminded me that night that we had been very, very fortunate: - nobody was hurt - we all got to the game on time - she had come down with the flu the night before and couldn't go to the game, therefore ... - our nephew was buckled in the front seat instead of sloshing around the back with his dad (who didn't buckle in) - if I had been such a bad driver, the accident would have been far worse ... - and mainly, nobody got hurt Being the prideful sort, it took me some days to get past my anger and realize that I became a better ad more respectful driver because of this episode. I'd never had a serious accident, and hence, I never had a full respect for poor driving conditions. I reflected on any number of settings where that mishap would've been worse: plowing into a sign, plowing into another vehicle or two, plowing off an overpass. I thank God for his providential hand on us that day. As it was, my brother enjoyed his game -- except for the final result. (The Bucs were still on the cusp.) Despite his being dressed in bright orange (two years previously he had opted for leather in the Pontiac Silverdome) we were picked up by some kindly violet-clad Viking fans. We made it to the stadium in plenty of time for kickoff. I will always remember the alarming sound of tires sliding and crunching on ice--still a warning. But I also remember with a smile my nephew's reaction when we came to our flip-flopped stop: "Dad, I'm upside down! Get me outta here!"