Beaned with a Fez

I was involved in a car chase once before with my father, Lucius Van Dyke II. I was five years old and we were watching the Memorial Day Parade march by Brown’s Drugstore. The Shriners drove up and started their precision driving in their tiny little cars. They drove in circles, figure 8’s, a daisy pattern. It was really cool for a five year old boy.

The Shriners started a new pattern that had them driving within a foot of where my father and I were standing. All of a sudden, my father swung back his fist and clobbered a Shriner, knocking him free of his little car. The tiny Mustang drifted to a halt.

“Come on, boy, we’re goin’ for a ride.”

My father grabbed my hand and swung me into the car. We took off down the street. Within seconds, we had a line of Shriners hot on our trail, zipping down the road at a maximum eight miles per hour. The parade goers thought it was part of the show and cheered happily. The Shriners screamed angrily in their red jackets, the tassels on their fezzes fluttering in the wind.

Those little Shriner cars all go about the same speed, so none of them we’re gaining on us. At least not until my father swerved suddenly to avoid a particularly large pile of horse dung.

The Shriner right behind us didn’t see the dung coming and smeared his way through the pile. The second Shriner caught up with us pretty quick as my father had to turn sharply to avoid the steaming heap. The Shriner pulled up beside us and yelled at my father to pull over. My father ignored him, enjoying his holiday drive with his oldest son. The Shriner, exasperated, ripped off his fez and flung it at my father.

A fez is surprisingly hard. The blow took my father by surprise. He reached his hand up to his cheek where the fez struck him. As he felt the growing bruise, he accidentally veered right into the curb, flinging Lucius Van Dyke II and III onto the pavement.

That was the last time I was in a car chase until now.