Glenna Stearman Park
My husband Joel and I were driving to our son Chris’s home, west of Boston. As the passenger and navigator, I checked out a text message from our son, Dan, back home in the DC area. It was a photograph of Joel’s honey colored Porsche 944 on fire. The photograph (below) showed firemen watching the fire, and the car looked totaled.
I tried to prepare Joel, so I told him about the fire. He slowed down. Then I showed him the picture, and he slowed down even more. Immediately, we had flashing police lights in the rearview mirror and Joel crawled to a full stop.
The officer told him he was driving too slowly for a freeway and wanted to know if there was a problem. Joel was stunned and so I popped up and told the policeman to come see the photo of the news we just got. He walked around to my side of the car, where I showed him the picture and told him what happened. Immediately, the policeman tried to console Joel and told him how sorry he was, and asked if Joel was going to be able to drive to our son’s place.
I was quite surprised at the male camaraderie in the moment. Not that the car was not a real loss, but the consoling tone of one man to another over a car just struck me as funny. It reminded me of the time before this fire, when Joel’s first Porsche caught on fire and burned to a crispy critter. I watched as men all through our neighborhood walked past our house (at the end of a cul de sac) to see the car, shake their heads, and express their respect for Joel’s loss.
The policeman wished Joel well and told him to drive carefully.
We were a one car family until Joel bought a black Tesla, Model 3. I recently heard that the Tesla’s lithium-ion battery is at risk for catching on fire. I think we should buy a fire extinguisher.
