Years ago, when I would visit home, my parents and I would go out shopping together. I usually drove, as they were intimidated (rightfully) by traffic. Dad had always been a bit of a backseat driver, but not too annoying. As time passed, however, he began to give me directions for every turn we would make. Though I didn’t show it, I was irritated by this constant instruction. Did he really think I wouldn’t remember how to get us home every time we went out?
Later it became clear to me that he was demonstrating his capacity to remember, to me, but more to himself. Not long after, in one significant incident, when I was in Maryland, he apparently was trying to drive to a neighboring small town, but somehow lost his way. I’ve never gotten a clear account of what actually happened, but the upshot was that he stopped at a highway toll booth for directions and the worker deemed that he was not fit to drive his car. Was he going the wrong way? Was he just incoherent? I wish I knew.
He managed to call home, and Mom and her sister came to get him, and the sister drove the car back. He must have been quite shaken by the incident. He never asked for his car keys again.