A big change is coming about in my family, one I don't know how I should feel about.

You know, sometimes things happen that might appear to be sad in one way, but in another they seem to just be things — things without an apparent emotional attachment.

Then again, there are things that happen that look sad to those on the outside, but those living through them fail to see the inherent sadness.

Allow me to explain. The other day I was sitting on the porch beside my father and he told me something I didn't want to hear.

First of all, my father's interests are different from mine. While we both like gardening and plants, animals and small-scale farming, he doesn't care much about reading or writing or music. Those are some of my favorite things. He used to build things and do work I do now, but these days, though, he is more into chewing tobacco and quiet evenings on the front porch, watching cars slowly pass by on the road below.

I just can't find a way to get into the car-watching thing, I suppose it is something that one acquires a taste for with age. Once I sat with him and started thinking about all these people driving by, going to different places. I thought about how their reality really doesn't have anything to do with mine, with the exception of the fact that they are passing through my line of sight. Just the thought of all those people with their own lives and thoughts, traveling to some unknown destination and doing unknown things, baffles my mind in its scope. Maybe he just uses the opportunity to reflect on the past or the present, possibly even the future. Since he started living a Christian life in the early 1970s, I think he feels pretty good about the future. It isn't something he really seems to worry about.

But as for the change I mentioned earlier, he has decided that it is time to stop driving. The other day he was coming home and got a little close to the side of the driveway and dropped a tire off the bank and had to have someone pull his car out. It bothered him. Insults on a mountain man's pride are sometimes harder to take than good solid blows.

Earlier this year, he accidentally pulled on the wrong side of the four-lane and had to pull over to the side and turn around. He won't like me writing about that, it would embarrass him. I think he just decided after the driveway mishap that he was just finished with the whole thing, tired of struggling with things he didn't care for any more. The book is finished, now just lay it aside and start another one.

He has cataracts on his eyes, his reflexes aren't so fast anymore and his car seemed to go slower with each passing year.

His tags say POW, since he was a prisoner of war in Korea for three years, but he would never tell you. He got the tags because they were free. He could have chosen either Disabled Veteran or POW, so he took POW. The DAV tag allows parking in handicapped spots, which he said should be saved for folks who need them (he is 100 percent disabled).

As for the tags, I don't think either one earns you much respect on the highways these days. If you are doing 25 in a 35 zone, so what if you nearly died in the service or sacrificed several years of your life for your country? Just get out of my way.

It really makes me angry to think about it, but I guess it's just the way our nation is these days. We certainly are an ungrateful lot for the most part.

But it really didn't seem to bother him. He just went on driving like he was driving, doing his own thing, oblivious to the storm around him.

When he told me he decided not to drive, I couldn't help but feel that it was a profound thing he was saying; but it just passed over me like a cloud beneath the sun. The truly profound revelation, a valuable life lesson, seems just out of reach of my understanding. All I know is that this man has always been a role model for me and now he tells me that he can no longer drive a car safely.

We talked around the issue, about the money he will save on insurance and tags, but there was more to it than that, something unspoken and deep. The fact of the matter is, he is getting old. It is hard for me to accept sometimes. I want him to be able to do all the things I want him to do. Perhaps I am also angry at him for ageing in a way. In my own selfish mind, I want him to be around for at least another hundred years or so. I suppose everyone feels that way.

I also worry that he will not be able to go to the grocery store when he wants to, that people will not be on time to take him to church and that he won't get to go visit people if he takes a notion. He always likes to go everywhere early, never late, never on time. He likes his own things: His own chair, his own home, his own car.

Of course I don't want him or anyone else to get hurt. But these things are like Preparation H or Metamucil; if you need it, use it — just don't tell me about it and we'll pretend they don't exist. And I'm never getting any older, either. And that's that.

Perhaps I should learn to face some of these most difficult lessons in life more directly. I could follow his good example. Unlike me, he is taken with accepting the current facts in his life — not trying to question the will of his Maker, as he tells me. Instead, he just lives his life as it comes to him, like eating corn on the cob: One bite at a time.

Of course, corn on the cob also went by the wayside for him when Super Polygrip came into the picture. Now his corn is kernel-style.

A time long ago comes to mind, when he used to tell me, "go on about your business" when I was pestering him. "But I don't have a business," I would explain. You know, I think that is what he is doing now; Just trying to go on about his business, one day at a time. After all these years, you would think I would try to stop being a pest.

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