I was reminded this morning of a really, really stupid moment in my teenaged life.  A moment when I had the whole family in the car with me.  I was driving.  I was driving a Suburban.  For those of you who are not familiar with the Suburban its much like a large pickup truck with a camper shell on the back, only it has three rows of seats so you can fit an entire army of people in it.  In fact in High School we called them MAV’s because that stood for “Mormon Assault Vehicle” because we assumed an entire neighborhood could be taken over by the number of “missionaries” [I think that’s too kind a name] that could fit into a Suburban… but I digress.

So I had the family in the Suburban and we were driving home from Lake Tahoe to Carson City.  This would be the kind of hill where the grades are steep and the road is windy.  Think of it as the perfect place for a James Bond drive the car off a cliff kind of scene, only instead of his awesome tricked out Astin-Martin, think big GM truck.  The Astin-Martin can nearly fly and the GM can nearly drop like a lead weight.  I was driving kind of fast.  And by kind of fast I mean stupidly fast and scaring my dad.  Scaring my dad on windy roads is hard to do, but I did it.  So he reached over the seat from the back where he was sort of seated and grabbed my shoulder and said, “Slow down!”  I think he only had to tell me three or four times before I actually did slow down.

I’m pretty sure that Suburbans are not able to corner like that and that angels actually held all four tires onto the road.  I can’t prove it, but I also can’t prove that my dad was scared either.  He could have just known exactly how fast the car could handle and knew I was getting close.  He’s been known to drive ultra-fast on windy roads himself 😉  Did I mention the Suburban was lifted 3″?