“Take time. Don’t smash the car door, Nancy!” Daddy shouted and continued in his harsh tone, “It is expensive and costs a fortune”. His voice almost turned me into a living ghost. Mommy sat squirmy at the front beside dad –  no words, just silence, and movements. No one could come between dad and his new Ferrari 250 GTE.

****

I remember the night before when a neighbor came running at our home one evening, she had just lost her job and she needed a minimal amount of credit to start a business. By then, we were sitting and watching Hidden Figures on Netflix in the western theater of the compound when we heard a sudden knock on the door. She explained the situation to our parents, and just when my mother was about to remark, my father interjected, “We pity your situation, but right now, our family is going through a financial deficit on our bills and domestic expenses. We wish we could help.” His remark made mom speechless and the woman, with an odd look in her eyes, left unfulfilled.

Twitching and furious, mommy left for the thoroughfare leading to the waterfall that centered the yard; in a brief stint, dad followed. I sneaked unnoticed behind the coconut tree that stood tall above the fence, right after the front gate to listen to their conversation. “You should have helped the lady. Do you even remember her? If it wasn’t for her, we would have lost James in that car accident! We have enough to run the family affairs.” Mommy exclaimed. It was my first time hearing such anguish in her voice. And as if mommy had ignited a fire, dad responded, “Tomorrow, I will have to take the vehicle for servicing. And I can’t spare a penny outside of the plan. Try to understand.” With folded arms and a deep sense of regret, mom left in a maddening manner.

This memory was enough to make me careful while entering our vehicle. To doff any unfriendly attitude was the least on my mind. At least I reminded myself each time I am riding with dad, especially on a Sunday.

****

We were on our way home from a regular Sunday mass when we decided to stop by an old friend’s house: the street was clear of traffic and the cacophony of out-of-date vehicles was nonexistent. 

Uncle Sam was a very nice old friend of the family. After a horrendous incident and a divorce that left him paralyzed, he retired from Nissan Co., a car manufacturing company occupying 35 acres of land in the Houston area, and settled in one of the ground floor apartments in a tenement on the outskirts of Chicago. 

Interestingly, it was Uncle Sam and his team that designed daddy’s Ferrari at an extra cost. Its interior and exterior architecture explain the enormous effort the company invested in giving the best quality service to the vehicle and the expenses the family had incurred. The decoration on the out can cause a scene: its reflex rear-view mirror surrounded by a deep blue light is spectacular; its ceiling made from Asian cotton and wood just made it all a beam; the tail and front lamps have adjustable coloration controlled by a remote to suit the environment. Its heavily staggered wheels bring confidence and comfort to its driver – daddy enjoys this add-on. 

With these features – television, a mini water-dispenser situated just in the middle of the front seats, and a remote sensor – available in a vehicle, life must be luxurious. Indeed. My family flourished in wealth and happiness. We went to the best Ivy League schools (my brother and I) and were loved by both parents. But something eerier happened that afternoon that completely shifted our family. 

At Uncle Sam’s place, we chatted about the upcoming Chicago Decathlon and our planned (both families) annual retreat to Chestnut Mountain Resort. Chestnut Mountain Resort is a major destination for families taking a summer vacation; its 475-foot drop and harpoon tips made it fascinating. James (my brother) and I talked and cheered the hours away with Jessica and Frank (uncle Sam’s two children), while dad, mom, and uncle Sam boozed themselves with Terrell wine in laughter – talking about life and the challenges each has gone through. 

In the middle of the ecstasy, a sonorous pause reached the courtyard where we were. It was a crash on dad’s Ferrari! A loaded ten-tire truck driven by a lush collided and deformed our only transport home. A furious gush! came over everyone’s face! We all knew how dad revered the vehicle. What will he do now? I guess everyone was waiting for a reaction. 

Pin! Pin! Pin! Pin………… The cardiogram sounded. Nancy couldn’t say her last words. She was gone! 

As her only friend in the hospital room embellished with the scent of sickish people, I wished Nancy had completed those last words about the outcome of the amiss incident that contorted their vehicle and the reaction of her hilarious father, Ben Jackson, before passing out. 

But I guess it was her way of telling how some families luxuriously live with a focus on material wealth that they snub the harsh realities of others’ sufferings, their friends and neighbors, like uncle Sam, whom they could have actually transformed by their gifting. She recounted the story of her own family as I stood opposite her bed, with her hands in mine and with a smile on our lips. She was beautiful. Beautiful even in death. Her cadaver wore a smile, not even the truck could crash like it did to their Ferrari. She died fully lived. She died empty! It was clear to her that regardless of how wealthy one gets, there will always be a void in his or her life that only charity can fill, no amount of luxury can substitute for kindness.

What is your Ferrari? Is it the people around you, or the possessions you have?