Thanks for All the Driving Memories, Grandpa

My grandfather didn’t learn to drive until he was in his mid-40s.

He was born in 1920, and arrived in Canada on May 27, 1965. Back in Italy, he didn’t own a car or have a licence. Nonno (Italian for grandpa) used to work the fields and put the sheep to pasture near his home.

But Welland, Ont., was much bigger than the little village he left behind, and it wasn’t easy to get around without a car. So one day he went to the nearby MTO office, took the test, and walked out with a licence. Even with his limited English, he still passed.

In the late 1960s, he went car shopping. My dad, in his early 20s at the time, took him to David Chevrolet in Welland. Nonno walked around the lot, checking out all the cars. He then pointed to a brand new 1969 Chevy Nova, said “That’s the one,” and made a deal.

The car was a vibrant orange. Years later, he told me he chose the colour because he knew he would always find his car in a parking lot. In all the years he owned that Nova, we never came across another one like it.

Nonno retired in the mid-1980s, just as my cousins and I were entering our kindergarten years, and became the de facto chaperone on our school field trips.

Apple picking at the orchard? There was nonno. Skating lessons at the arena? There he was again. My cousins and I got used to scanning for the orange Nova as our school bus would pull into the parking lot. If we saw the car, we knew nonno was there.

He would pick me up after my half-day of kindergarten (I went in the mornings) and I got used to waiting out front and keeping an eye out for the orange car to turn the corner. Once I spotted it, I knew that soon I’d be eating lunch, followed by an afternoon of watching cartoons (and General Hospital with my grandmother).

As the years went by, both nonno and the car got older and both started showing their age. He took meticulous care of the Nova with the help of us grandkids. We would wash it, Windex the windows, and vacuum the enormous back seat.

He owned the Nova for almost 25 years and my one regret is that I never got to drive it. By the time I got my beginner’s licence in 1996, the car was gone, replaced by a Pontiac 6000 LE.

It was in the Pontiac that I learned how to drive. Nonno would take me out to practice, offering driving tips he had learned over the years. One piece of advice I’ll never forget was the day he told me that if I got to a three-way stop, and it was raining (emphasis mine), and no other cars were around, I didn’t have to stop.

This “rule” only applied if all the criteria was met. If it wasn’t raining, then I would have to stop, but add in some rain, and all rules went out the window. It goes without saying, I never actually followed his advice.

In September 2000, he turned 80 and went for his first road test since the 1960s. Once again, my dad was with him.

When nonno and the examiner returned after 20 minutes, my dad was waiting. The examiner asked my grandpa to hang back, and explained to my dad that nonno had failed. The examiner asked if my dad would help him break the news, as nonno’s English wasn’t great and the examiner didn’t speak Italian.

Why did he fail? While making a left turn at a stoplight, nonno turned from the left lane and moved directly into the right lane. He should have turned into the left lane and then moved over. That was the error that put him over the limit.

Nonno was crestfallen, but understood, and immediately rescheduled his road test.

On the next attempt, he did everything correctly, including the left turn, and his licence was renewed.

Shortly thereafter, nonno called my dad and asked him to take away the car keys. He no longer wanted to drive.

He had taken the test to prove to himself, at 80 years old, that he could still do it. And he did. It was more about his self-esteem than his need to drive.

Nonno passed away a few years later, exactly 40 years and one day after arriving in Canada. It’s been 17 years, but my cousins and I still talk about all the adventures we had in the orange Nova. All the trips to the mall, all the school outings, and all the rides to the park. We have good memories of the car, but we have even better memories of the man who drove it.

Thanks for all the rides, nonno.

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