|I totally get this.|
One time, when my daughter was learning to drive, she got into the driver’s seat in a Dairy Queen parking lot.
As she adjusted her mirrors, she saw a car passing behind us.
“Move it, asshole,” she said.
She got this from me.
I am a terrible, albeit cowardly, road-rager. (I only rage inside the car. I actually tend not to call other drivers “asshole” because “asshole” is very lip-readable. Try it.)
Why the road rage? It’s not really rage; it’s nervousness. I don’t like to drive. Driving scares me. Certain parts of it (true asshole drivers, speeding, tailgating, weaving, for instance) make my palms sweat.
I am very verbal, which is a nice way to say I am a chatterbox. So, when something bothers me, out pour all my thoughts.
This is not a good thing.
When my daughter was in middle school, her math teacher mentioned she was working on my daughter’s “negative self-talk.” It was the first time I had heard the term. And my son is even more like me. He can go on, at length, quite eloquently, about all the reasons his homework, and the teacher who assigned it, are stupid.
But all that talk doesn’t get the job done. And more importantly, it cements, in both the mind of the talker as well as everybody within earshot, such negativity.
I’m trying to stop.
But it’s not easy.
Now, my son is learning to drive. When we get into the car, I promise to be just like a sack of potatoes in the front seat. (He’s required to have someone with him.) But as I grab the Jesus handle and yelp in terror, my son points out that I am quite a talkative sack of potatoes.