Backseat Driving Done Right

It's Graduation season, that time of the year when high school and college students finish their schooling and walk across the stage in a cap and gown to get a piece of paper with their name on it.  As it happens, this year my niece Courtney walked the stage as she graduated from high school, and the family trooped off to the Laurie Auditorium at Trinity University to watch this milestone.  I rode with my parents to the event. 

It's been awhile since I have ridden in the backseat of the family car, and things have changed since then.  For one thing, I developed a bit of claustrophobia, and sitting in the backseat is a little close.  For another, my parents are older.  My dad normally drives a huge pick up truck, but for this evening we were in my mother's Honda.  Except that my dad was driving like he was still in his pickup; he pretended that speed bumps put on our route weren't there and barely slowed down.  Short as I am, it was difficult not to go airborne.  I was grateful for the seatbelt!  I noticed my mother gripping her hands together, and I knew that she was nervous about her car. 

After the graduation ceremony, we returned to the car and headed home.  My dad exited the university, then headed for the traffic light.  He put on his turn signal at the stop light.  That's when the fun started, just like when I was a kid.

Mom:  "There's no right turn on red here,"

Dad: "There's no sign saying that."  

Mom: "Yes there is."

Dad: "I don't see any sign."

"Dad, you can't see oncoming traffic,"   I could not see the traffic light from the backseat, but I could see the left corner of the road jutting out to block our view. I felt compelled to speak up. 

Mom: "And it's no right turn on red."    Luckily, the light turned green, saving my dad from responding.  As we turned the corner, I saw the sign my mom was talking about, but kept quiet.  It became obvious that my dad was in a hurry to get home. 

"Dad, you're going a little fast.  There's a lot of cops out tonight."  I didn't mean to say a word; I had resolved to sit quietly in the backseat.  But my mother trained me well, and I could not help myself. I proceeded to correct his driving several more times, becoming more and more horrified at myself.  I even mentioned the speed bumps on the way back!  

"Can I just drive?" My dad had had enough of my shenanigans.  I'd had enough of myself as well.  However, I think my mom was secretly pleased. 

Driving Along

optional prompt: driving along

 I love to drive.  

Yeah, I so went there.  

I am a woman, and I love to drive. 

I especially love to drive the backroads. 

I love to sit behind the wheel, my hands gripping the steering, and push my right foot to the floor until the countryside blurs around me.  I love swooping over rolling hills as the cows chew on the grass of the pastures. I love turning my music as loud as I can stand as the world whizzes past.  

Highway to Hell?  La Grange? Killing in the Name?  Prime driving music.

I like that feeling of control.  

I don't really get to have that much control over my life anymore.  No adult truly has control. After all, I have a husband and a child, and they come first in my life.  That is as it should be, but my life often revolves around their schedules in addition to my own. And at work, I have federal guidelines, deadlines to follow, and a boss who calls most of the shots, so not much control there if I want a paycheck.  

But out there?  Two lanes of black top, curving through farmland and over hills? 

It's on.


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By Any Other Name

My husband and I, along with our son, went on a mini-vacation this past week. We drove to Grapevine, Texas, where I was supposed to attend a special luncheon. This was Zane's very first extended car trip. The drive up was relatively uneventful. We had borrowed a friend's portable dvd player, and Zane was occupied with that most of the way. Except for the fact that he only wanted to watch ONE movie over and over and over and over(to be fair, the movie does have Nathan Fillion in it).

We had a lovely time. We stayed at the Comfort Suites, which I highly recommend. While I went to the sixtieth anniversary luncheon for my bestie's parents, Zane and Larry rode the train at Grapevine and had a great time. We all went to a free concert in Arlington to see the Kildares, who play a rock-ish type of music with a fiddle and bagpipes. There were other things we wanted to do, but since we were vacationing, none of us were upset that we didn't get to them. We packed up all our stuff in preparation for the next day.

Today we traveled home. We only watched the movie once, and then the dvd was turned off so it "could take a nap". So there was a bit of quiet.

And so it was that the horror began.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Zane?"

"What's your name?"

"It's Daddy."


Pause.


"Mama?"

"Yep?"

"What's your name?"

"My name is Mama."


Pause.


"Daddy, what's your name?"

"It's still Daddy."


Pause.


"Mama, what's your name?"

"Mama."


Pause.


"Daddy?"

"Yes Son?"

"What's your name?"

"What was my name the last time you asked?"

"Daddy."

"Daddy is still my name."


Pause.


"Mama?"

"What do you need, son?"

"What is your name?"

"I don't know. What is my name?"

"You're Mama."

"Oh Thank you son! I was worried."


Pause.


"Daddy, what's your name?"

"Same as it was the last six times you asked, Zane. It's Daddy."


Pause.


"Mama?"

"Yes?"

"What's your name, Mama?"

"Fred."

"That not your name, Mama!"

"It's not?"

"No! You Mama!"

"Oh. Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"But if you knew my name is Mama, why did you ask me to tell you my name?" Even as I asked the question, I could see Larry gesturing me to shut my mouth. Of course my question led to another two or three rounds.

These lovely interchanges occurred, on average, every three minutes, for FIVE hours.
I suppose that this is a variation of the time honored "Are we there yet?" that all children begin asking within a four mile radius of a car. We tried distraction, we tried bribery, we eventually attempted threats. Nothing worked. We were stuck. We did try to respond politely to his questions, and model appropriate behavior. By the time we got home, however, both Larry and I were ready to find a large rock and beat our heads against it.

Situational Awareness

Safety. We all want it. Even those weirdos who like to jump out of perfectly good airplanes or climb up to the top of insanely tall mountains want some measure of safety. It's a normal, every day thing to want to feel safe. We do a lot of things to make ourselves feel safe--lock the doors, install an alarm, move across the street from a police station--but there's one thing that most people ignore. It is called situational awareness. I may have blogged about this before, but I plan to keep yammering on about it. It is important.

A lot of people out there don't pay attention to what is going on around them at any given moment, and they therefore don't see things coming at them that might hurt them. The jogger/walker wearing ear buds that are blaring music, for example, is not going to hear a car coming or an attacker running up behind them. They've lost situational awareness, have no idea who or what is around them and are therefore vulnerable. A perfect target. I know--the music helps you 'zone out' so you can get through your workout and get back to eating pizza and watching Jersey Shore. It's the 'zone out' that is the problem.

The reason that texting while driving is a bad idea doesn't have a thing to do with perpetuating bad grammar. When you are texting, or talking on your cell phone, or trying to find the perfect song, or even trying to get a pacifier to your screaming child in the back seat, you have shifted your attention away from the extremely important job of driving without crashing. Driving is a complex task because not only do you have to pay attention to what you are doing, you also have to pay attention to what every other driver is doing so that you can respond if they do something stupid like text while driving. When you shift your attention away from the act of driving, for any reason, you have lost situational awareness in a large metal box on wheels that may or may not protect you in the event of a crash, depending on several factors over which you have no control because you aren't paying enough attention to respond. Add into that mix another person, like a random semi-driver, who is not paying attention, and it's very easy to see the recipe for disaster. It happens to even the most conscientious drivers.

People who own guns are more likely to shoot themselves or a family member because the gun makes them lose situational awareness. They rely on that gun to solve their problems and make them feel safe, and think that is all they have to do. It's a false sense of security that leads people to ignore other signs that something is going to happen until it is too late. When do accidents happen? When people aren't paying attention. You hear it all the time--about how they 'just took their eyes off the road for a second', how they 'just stepped out of the room for a moment'. A moment is all it takes.

Paying attention isn't even that difficult. Keep your head up and look around. Try it. Next time you're out there walking, look around. Know who is around you and what they are doing or not doing, and adjust your behavior accordingly. If someone makes your 'spidey-sense' tingle, pay attention to that feeling.

If you're driving, and you see someone who is texting or talking on the phone or trying to put eyeliner on, put some distance between that person and yourself. If the person putting on the eyeliner or texting is you, pull over safely and then slap yourself.

Now I See What The Teen Years Will Be Like

Zane and I were driving home from the daycare center last night, and we were stopped in traffic. All of a sudden, a teen driver pulled out in front of our car, not bothering to look. She was on her cell phone and OMG! whatever her BFF was saying to her was soooooo much more important than safe driving.

I rolled my eyes, said a brief thanks that at least one of us was paying attention, and smiled at my son in the rear view mirror.

"Zane, when you start driving, you had better use your brain!" I told him.

I was somewhat sarcastic, I admit. I didn't expect an answer, but Zane didn't seem to miss a beat as he responded.

"No."

Mr. Whipple Was Here

I am driving home, down I-35. I take my usual exit and head for the loop. On my left, the highway. On my right, a field of grass and small trees. I had slowed down to get on the loop. That is when I noticed it, in a flash. Next to the road, just sitting there, upright, as if waiting...a single roll of toilet paper.

I did not stop to see if it was the quilted stuff.

Important Safety Tip and a Side Rant

If I can see your eyes clearly from a half a mile away before I drive past you, you might want to lay off the frost eye shadow.

On a side note, frost eye shadow doesn't look good on anybody who perspires.Yeah, I went there.

And what the hell does AC/DC's "For Those About to Rock" have to do with cooking blueberry pancakes?


EDIT: Wow. I guess that I have no business blogging while I'm cranky. I haven’t been feeling well, and now Zane isn’t feeling well, and it’s been a particularly obnoxious day. I shouldn’t be taking it out on other people. That lady probably couldn't help it that she perspired and her frost eye shadow became hi-beams to oncoming traffic. She could have taken one good look in her rear view mirror and blinded herself, and I would feel sad about that. Really. I should be grateful that I was wearing my sunglasses so I didn't run off the road.

But I still don't understand what "For Those About to Rock" has to do with blueberry pancakes. What is up with that, Target? Is Angus Young a fan of blueberries? Did Brian Johnson write a jingle about pancakes at some point in his career? Are the blueberry pancakes that woman in the commercial is about to make going to be hard as a rock? Can someone please explain the connection to me? Should I be bringing blueberry pancakes to the next AC/DC concert I attend and fling them onstage instead of certain garments?
I’ve probably said too much…