[This is an adaptation of a story I told at my brother’s graveside service in 2006. November 15, 2015 would have been Lyle’s 55th birthday.]
Lyle was born with spina bifida. He got around in a wheelchair throughout his life; however, he was obsessed with motorized four-wheeled transportation. American muscle cars were his favorites. He took it upon himself to pass judgment on any car family members bought over the years. At least when it came to my cars, he was not complimentary.
In 1999, when we were living in Greensboro, NC, my partner Julian bought a Volkswagen GTI VR6. This was a limited-edition Golf with a 6-cylinder engine. Lyle was dismissive of this purchase. Never one to have someone disrespect his wheels, Julian plotted a way to show Lyle what his car’s capabilities were. He decided that we’d take the GTI home to New York for Thanksgiving and take Lyle on a joyride.
The day after Thanksgiving was marked for the ride. The weather was dry and sunny. We helped Lyle from the wheelchair to the car, I climbed in back, and Julian revved the engine. The early part of the drive was on back roads. Julian was relatively cautious on the curves. Then we got onto route 104, and Julian’s foot turned from feathery to leaden. The speedometer needle headed toward and above 90 mph. My eyes alternated between the speedometer and Lyle. The acceleration pushed him hard against the back of the seat, and his complexion was going from pale to red. Luckily, local law enforcement had not set up speed traps on the road that day. Once Julian decided that Lyle had had enough thrills, he slowed down and we turned back home.
The GTI rolled into Mom’s driveway. I pulled his wheelchair up to the passenger side of the car so Lyle could get out. Julian asked, “So what did you think?” Lyle’s characteristic response: “It runs.” This was the highest praise he could give.
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