The Once and Future Tragedy: RIP Dan Wheldon
My family and I were supposed to go out to dinner last night. Around 4pm my Dad disappeared into the basement - we figured to get some nicer clothes on. Finally, as 6pm came and went, my mother and I now feeling more than a little hungry, I went downstairs to check on the old man. "You ready to go?" I asked.
"Dan Wheldon died in a crash at the Indy race today," my Dad said. He kept folding laundry and cleaning off his tool bench while he watched the after reports on television - replays of flaming wreckage flying through the air, conciliatory words, the usual cliches of grief and pre-emptive speculations into cause. I walked upstairs in my little black dress and told Mom that I'd go get some take out instead. When she asked why, all I could do was shrug and say, "Racing death." She made that hideous sigh of complete sorrow and incomprehension that she usually only makes when GOP candidates allege that homosexuals are responsible for the downfall of the American economy, set down her purse, and went downstairs to try to comfort Dad. The lady behind the register at the Chinese place asked if I was okay. "Just fine, thank you." I added a dollar to her tip. But I wasn't fine, my Dad's still a little shaken today; it's never fine, and somehow, it keeps happening.
And I still love racing.
( Even if I sometimes wonder why... )
"Dan Wheldon died in a crash at the Indy race today," my Dad said. He kept folding laundry and cleaning off his tool bench while he watched the after reports on television - replays of flaming wreckage flying through the air, conciliatory words, the usual cliches of grief and pre-emptive speculations into cause. I walked upstairs in my little black dress and told Mom that I'd go get some take out instead. When she asked why, all I could do was shrug and say, "Racing death." She made that hideous sigh of complete sorrow and incomprehension that she usually only makes when GOP candidates allege that homosexuals are responsible for the downfall of the American economy, set down her purse, and went downstairs to try to comfort Dad. The lady behind the register at the Chinese place asked if I was okay. "Just fine, thank you." I added a dollar to her tip. But I wasn't fine, my Dad's still a little shaken today; it's never fine, and somehow, it keeps happening.
And I still love racing.
( Even if I sometimes wonder why... )