Driving While Animated

I’d like to begin with a statement of full disclosure.  Do I talk on my cell phone while driving?  Yes, I have a Bluetooth connection in my car and comply with the hands-free rules.  Do I ever text while driving, or create a Facebook post while driving?  Well, I’m pretty sure that there’s a law against that.  Anyway, that’s the subject of another story.

It was an ordinary day.  She could have been anyone.  I first saw her in my rear view mirror.  I see a lot of people in my rear view mirror, but this woman happened to catch my attention.  She was talking on her cell phone.  My first thought was to look around to see if there was a police officer nearby.  (There wasn’t).  She had a look in her face that challenged me to take notice.  Her facial expression was one that at first glance could have been interpreted as either laughter or extreme sadness. 

At a stop light I had an opportunity to examine her face more closely.  She was definitely crying.  The slight glisten of a tear had been wiped across her cheek by her free hand.  Had a loved one just gotten hurt, or even worse, died?  What could be so upsetting to her?

As my curiosity had been piqued, I observed further and came to the quick realization that she was not experiencing sadness but rather rage.  She began yelling and flailing her arm around in grand gestures.  Lip reading is only a passing hobby of mine, but I could clearly see in my rear view mirror that she was getting a little colorful with her language.  There are a few words in the English vocabulary that are fairly easy to distinguish – even if they’re seen in reverse through a rear view mirror. 

She remained behind me, as we drove up the road in fairly heavy traffic.  She continued to vent with abandon to the caller on the other end of the phone.  At a few of the stop lights, her SUV came very close to my car and the difference in car height made it impossible for me to see her through my rear view mirror.  I had to divert my glance to the side view mirror.  I looked over as nonchalantly as I could so I wouldn't be accused of staring at her.  She continued crying, arguing and waving her arm around in Broadway style.

Why do I write this?  What is the point?

Everyone’s got a private life.  Everyone’s got a story.  I’ll never know what happened to this woman, triggering the response that she so publicly displayed on the road that day.  It really doesn’t even matter. 

Maybe this is just a veiled public service message:  Don’t drink and drive.  Don’t write text messages while driving.  Take ownership and responsibility not only for the passengers in your vehicle, but for the drivers and passengers in the shared road around you.  If you are so emotionally invested in a life event that you are unable to focus on your task of driving, please pull over and continue the conversation safely on the sidelines.  You can be just as animated and perhaps more persuasive in your argument.

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Product Overload

“I’m not a metrosexual.  I just like to be clean.” –author unknown

There are 19 bottles of ‘product’ in my shower.  I noticed that it looked a little crowded, but I had no idea of the number of items until I counted them out this morning.  I actually counted them out twice because I couldn’t believe the total number after my first count. 

I’m not an expert in these things, but I’m pretty sure that this number is on the higher end of the national average.  I immediately performed a spot inventory to determine the source of this blatant clutter.  One, two, three, four, five - Oh my God, five of these items belong to me.  I’m hesitant to mention that this number doesn’t even include my shampoo or conditioner. 

What do I have that is so important that needs to occupy the valuable real estate in our shower?  I’ve got the face scrub.  I don’t use it every day, but I really like the way it smells.  Then there’s the shaving cream; I’ve got to have that.  I also have an alternate shaving ‘solution’ that was a gift to myself.  I was in one of those shaving quandaries, when a men’s product representative talked me into this state-of-the-art shaving process.  This consists of one bottle of pre-shave oil and another jar of matching fragranced shaving cream.  I don’t use either one of these shaving systems every day.  Sometimes I just use soap, a fact that visibly upset the men’s product representative.  Last but not least, there is a bottle of AXE shower gel that came with a special double sided scrubbing brush.  I won this at a bingo game while at a baby shower with my wife.  My daughters were very excited to see this new addition to my bathing regimen.  They love this brand, presumably influenced by some commercial ads on MTV.  As I recall, there is always a mob of attractive women that seem drawn to men who use AXE products.  This hasn’t happened to me yet, but as a man, I still hold out hope that it might happen someday.  I’ve only used this shower gel about three times.  Maybe I should give this product the ‘axe’ (sorry).  Let’s be honest; it’s way easier to just use an old fashioned bar of soap to rid oneself of any dirt molecules. 

Looking around the shower, I also see some ancillary items.  I’ve got two shaving brushes.  One is a cheap drug store model that I bought for about $3.00.  It smells bad and always leaves artificial bristles all over my face.  I should probably throw it away as soon as I finish writing this telling account of personal grooming rapture.  I’ve got a second shaving brush that I paid good money for, which is everything that it is supposed to be.  I think it’s made out of English Badger hair.  It’s probably not on a Vegan’s list of approved items, but it works just fine for me when I use it. 

I’ve got two razors.  One has three blades and another has four blades.  When my Dad taught me to shave, I used a razor with only one blade.  I don’t see those types of razors anymore.  I think that they are now either obsolete or illegal to own in California.  I think razor companies should be limited to the number of blades that they are allowed to use on a single razor. I’ve decided that when the razor companies get up to seven blades, I’m going to begin growing a beard.   You may laugh; but trust me, that day will come.  

We should all start playing a game called “Take a Shower.”  It will be loosely based on the TV game show “Name That Tune.”  The first contestant would begin with a number, let’s say five, declaring “I can take a shower with only five products.” One of the kids, being naive in the ways of bathing might chime in, “I can take a shower with only four products.” (Kids are allowed to shower with dolls, so each doll counts as a product.)  I would nervously participate by saying, “I can take a shower with only three products.”  Those that feel like roughing it might go down to two products, and heaven help the poor slob that can bathe with only one product.  Can we really call the one-product contestant “the winner?”

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To The Best Moms Ever

I’ll begin with my mom, because she is the only mom I ever had.  We lost her way too early, and that has created an uneasy void in my life that has tinged my existence immeasurably.  You can look back at your time together with a person and see shadings from all different angles.  Like most parent/child dynamics, we had ups and downs.  But my mother helped form me into who I am today, and I have only good things to remember and retell about her.  She taught me endurance, fearlessness, willpower and reason.  I can’t say that I’ve always used those traits correctly in every situation, but she has been with me as my guide always. 

Although she never considered herself a good cook, she created meals for me that I still remember fondly and attempt to re-create.  I experiment in life and in the kitchen, in part, because of her.  She never hesitated to take on new challenges, even if the outcome was unknown. 

She was also very mechanical, and I definitely inherited that quality from her.  Mechanics, diagnostics and repair come very naturally to me and have served me well over the years.  I have limits, recognize them, and have my mom to thank for that distinction. 

My grandmother taught me about patience, innocence, curiosity and generosity.  She was much more of a role model than she ever knew.  She was taken from us later in life, quickly.  There was no time for suffering or even a complete understanding of what was happening.  Her life was tragically altered after the death of her only daughter, my mom.  Following that, we became extremely close and essential to each other.  My grandmother was one of the kindest and friendliest people you could ever have the privilege of knowing.  She had a magical ability to make friends with total strangers, while always seeing the best in them.  I have some of her unconditional optimism in me; it's a good quality to have, but always puts you at risk of being hurt by others.  She was a great mom to my mom.

My wife is the current mom in my life.  To me, she is a wife.  I have been fortunate to find a person that is on the same wavelength as me.  We are completely different people, and forgive me for using the clichéd phrase "she completes me," but that's exactly what she does.  She has many of the strengths that I lack, and conversely, I have some of the strengths that she lacks.  Together, we are a complete team that is well equipped to handle most of the life events that are thrown our way.  I can tell her how special she is to me, but she will never know what an important role she has in my life.  We began at a slow simmer, but over time have steadily come to a full boil.  I can only hope that when memories are all she has left of me, she will know how integral she was to my survival following the death of my parents. 

You always wonder in life what kind of things your own children will remember of you and your modus operandi.  I hope that my kids will have some positive stories to remember about me.  As far as my wife (their mom) is concerned, I have no doubt that they will lovingly follow the example that she set with respect and thankfulness.

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Dictaphone Dad

There is nothing more frustrating than watching my little girl work on a writing assignment for school.  Try as I may to stay out of her business, I can’t help but inject some tidbits of wisdom into the project.  Call me a concerned Dad; call me an anal retentive wannabe writer; call me a stickler for logic and detail.  It doesn’t really matter what you call me, it takes incredible strength for me to encourage her to write the paper all by herself without partaking of the festivities. 

You may have seen some of my work:  The Eagle and the Fox, The Fox and the Grape, and my personal favorite, Elephants.  There is a problem that I am all too aware of:  my writing voice is nowhere near my daughter’s writing voice.  My daughter’s thread of reasoning is also on a different plane than mine.  Did I just use a geometry term?  I’m sorry; I must still be in my math homework mode. 

To help a young writer, from a teaching standpoint, it helps to deconstruct the story to its core.  I like to use parallel examples from real life to help illustrate the theme of the project story.  “What would you do if you couldn’t get what you wanted?”  “How would you feel if someone said that to you?”  I encourage original thought while attempting to guide the process in a linear fashion.  Kind of complicated for sixth grade; but if not now – then when? 

She spins, she squirms and she looks at me with those eyes.  “What do I do next?

“What is the story about?” I say.  “Just write about it, in your own words.  What are the characters doing?  What happens?”  She pauses, stumbles and then reads me her entry.  She looks at me again, with hesitation, waiting for my response.   “It’s almost there,” I say.  “Let’s clean it up a little.  It’s not a complete sentence.  Keep going.  You’re doing great!” 

She’s so close, but not quite there yet.  I know she can write a meaningful, compelling story.  I’ve seen her in-class journals.  One of these days I know that she’ll impress me with a totally original story.  She definitely has the potential; it just hasn’t fully sprouted yet. 

Writing comes naturally for some, while it’s a chore for others.  I’m hoping for a day, in the not so distant future, when it will come more naturally for her.  I’m not prepared to help her write college level papers. There will certainly be more sophisticated tools by then, and a dad making some simple verbal suggestions will be an obsolete concept. 

Photo courtesy of www.ieeeghn.org

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