I try to make it a habit of maintaining my composure around my children. Language, demeanor, and common courtesies are areas that have been a constant work-in-progress since our first was born. Our parents raised us a certain way and we are trying to do the same. It’s not that I’m some sort of hothead or foul-mouthed hooligan or anything. No comments from the peanut gallery, please. It’s just that on those off-chances that I do lose my composure, it’s often quite colorful.
One of my mother-in-law’s favorite accounts revolves around the time that my father-in-law and I hung crown molding in our dining room. I had cut the last piece of molding a full inch too short. Already frustrated with the general expertise required in geometry, I snapped. Calmly and without a word, I picked up the molding, walked out onto our back deck, and launched it like an Olympic javelin. I estimated a good thirty yards through the air. With my obvious shortfalls in tape measure usage, it may have well been closer to sixty. I’m talking Nike sponsorship material here. After cooling off, however, I walked into the backyard, wiped off the grass stains, and worked around the problem to complete the job. Slightly insane? A wee over-the-top? You could make that argument. However, spectacularly colorful.
Most of the time, I incoherently mumble through my locker room repertoire and continue with the task at hand. However, there’s always the “people factor”, coupled with my lack of patience for them, to consider as well. Being that eternal cynic, I always expect people to behave like…well, people. Society as a whole expects others to act as if they have some trace of common sense. However, I happen to agree with the anonymous skeptic who once penned that “the problem with common sense is that most people are morons.” More gently put, if you don’t expect too much, you’ll never be disappointed.
Normally, I find people-watching an amusing spectator sport. There is that handful that really seems to draw my ire though. Generally, they’re the ones that pose some sort of threat to what’s near-and-dear to me.
Driving home late on Christmas Day, it snowed the entire way home. The roads were clear until we reached our county line. Literally, right at the county marker, the roads went completely untouched by snow removal equipment. From that point forward, I couldn’t tell where the road ended and the ditches began. With my wife, three kids, and a few dozen Christmas presents jammed into my car, I tried to take it slow and steady. Anything over second gear seemed to result in a loss of traction.
“That handful” of people were also on the road that night. The ones who, on snow-covered roads, decided to tailgate six inches from my bumper. If there is one major pet peeve that I have, it’s tailgating. Blame my years of navigating DC traffic as first-hand witness to thousands of mangled bumpers. What’s the saying? “You can take the boy out of the city, but not the city out of the boy.”
Here I have my entire family in this car. If I had to hit my brakes for any reason, this guy is basically in my backseat eating cheese sticks with my kids. I flashed my hazards a few times. Even resorted to physically waving him off. Clueless. I felt my face began to heat up as I rapidly approached that “slightly insane” stage. For the purposes of safety, I pulled over in an effort to let him pass.
As he drove by me, I opened my window and stuck my head out in an effort to enhance our personal line of pleasantries. Somehow, I managed to only shake a fist at him while keeping all five digits in the downward position. However, I then followed it up with a booming “you’re an IDIOT” at the top of my lungs. Yes. That “boy-city” thing again.
After putting the window back up and carefully getting back on the road, a small voice appeared from the backseat. It was my five year old daughter.
“Daddy, it’s not nice to call somebody an idiot.”
Oops. I have passengers.
Privately, I patted myself on the back. The fact that only a closed fist and an “idiot” were outwardly expressed was really a testimonial to my overall progress. Before children, I was liable to offend a busload of Marines and sprain a finger…or two. Exemplifying the true decathlete of vulgarity. However, she was right. The next five minutes resulted in an extended conversation on how it wasn’t nice to treat other people that way. How we have to control our tempers and be courteous to others (even if they are idiots). It turned into an extremely beneficial moment for us, as parents, in teaching both tolerance and respect.
Through these discussions, my blood pressure stabilized and body temperature normalized. My family was safe and that’s all that really mattered. At that moment, a truck blew by us in a no-passing lane, weaving and darting to get in front of me. Unfortunately, my mouth is occasionally a good second or two faster than my brain. This was one of those such instances. “Now go ahead and wreck” immediately fell out of my sarcastic mumbler.
I physically cringed as that little voice returned from the backseat. “Daddy, why do you hope he wrecks?”
Luckily my wife, with fifteen years experience in defusing the repercussions associated with my oftentimes irrepressible outer-voice, was fast enough to orchestrate an impromptu word scramble to smooth the situation. The natives seemed satisfied.
As for me, I simply nodded intently. Better to slouch down and keep my mouth shut at this point. Not tempt kiddy decorum any further. Somehow, I managed to keep my language in check. Demeanor and common courtesy, on the other hand, were systemically launched by a colorful, albeit slightly insane, Olympic gold medalist. Twice.
This time, I’m demanding the IOC and Guinness folks provide the official measurement.