As I endeavor to teach my son to drive a car, I’m reminded of that fact that my first two years of driving were intense. Every time I thought I was going to have a car accident, I’d let out a string of expletives.
It quickly became apparent to me that I did not want my last words on earth to be the type that would have made the devil blush. I decided that a much nicer response would be “I love you.” It would be my way of telling my passenger in the car, myself or God that I thought fondly of them.
Once when my mother and I were passengers in my Grandmother Roberta’s car, she pulled out in front of a fast approaching car. I thought we were going to be broad sided and let out a loud “Oh #!” The other car managed to stop in time and my grandmother was oblivious. When my grandmother got out of the car, I leaned over and made my apology to my mom for cussing.
“That’s OK,” she said. “I thought we were going to die, too.”
Even though she understood, a nice “I love you” would have been the better choice.
I rarely find the mood to scream out while driving because my maneuvering skills have improved. Still, I worry that I might someday say that to someone I would never say that to, like a male coworker or longtime male friend.
“I love you! Wait, I didn’t mean that. I thought we were going to die. And not that I don’t like you, although not in the case of “like” like, but I often say that instead of #$**## which isn’t nice for a person to say, so, and I never want my son talking that way, so what I’m really trying to say….”
Geesh. In that case, a simple “Oh #!” and slam of the brakes would need no explanation.
No comments:
Post a Comment