Daddy Always Told Me Not to Honk

On a recent saturday, the day before Julie's birthday to be exact, i experienced a road rage incident.  Or sorts.  I was taking Jackson to his baseball practice early that afternoon, but we were going to stop first at the florist to get a bouquet for Julie.  As we approached the Robinhood/Peacehaven intersection, a car had pulled across the Peacehaven northbound lanes, pulling out the Lowe's shopping center, heading across Peacehaven into the strip center where Ace Hardware is. 

This move is not allowed, and there are actually pole barriers to stop drivers from doing it.  But this muttonhead was sitting there, blocking all three of our lanes, trying to fit between the poles.  So i honked at the vehicle.  Nothing long or obnoxious.  Just a toot to let you know that we do not approve of your selfish driving.  The driver immediately, and quite aggressively, popped his head out of his open driver's window, and gave me the one-figure salute.  A honk for a bird - that's a trade i can live with.

So we made the left onto Robinhood and parked at the florist, which is close to the intersection, and right across the street where angry Gold Taurus was heading.  As we were inside ordering the bouquet, i saw that angry Gold Taurus had actually pulled into the small parking lot next to my Audi, and was looking around for me. 

OK, it's quick decision time.  This is ridiculous; i'm a flower-giver, not a fighter.  Gold Taurus has now manuevered his car so that he's backed into the space next to mine, and appears to be just sitting there waiting.  Waiting for what exactly, i can't say.  He looks a bit rough, but he also has a young boy, presumably his son, in the car with him, just like i have Jackson with me.  We decided to hang out in the flower shop for a bit, to let the guy cool off (it didn't occur to me until later that he could have come into the shop after us - and then i've endangered the two ladies working there, too).  Is he out there keying my car, puncturing my tires, pulling the brass knuckles out of his glove box?

Thankfully, after just another minute or so, we looked out the big windows again and the rager was gone.  I had figured that he would calm down, especially with a kid with him.  But stalking me already this far was a sign of irrationality, so who knows if he's just lying in wait for me around the corner or something.  I pay for the bouquet, and leave the store.  No damage to my car.  But i remain vigilant, just in case.

It's a freaky feeling, to be on alert such.  Of all cars to have as a nemesis, i pick the most common one around, a Taurus.  And of a quite common color, the beige/gold family.  So now i'm chasing (or avoiding) shadows, on edge whenever i saw a light colored sedan.  And of all places to pick a traffic-fight, right at the most common intersection i encounter, the place i drive by at least twice a day.  And of all cars to be in when i do it - a very distinctive, can't-be-mistaken-for-someone-else, silver Audi convertible (i couldn't help but wonder if there was a class-element to the Taurus' rage - i mean, does this dude follow me if i'm in a big redneck pickup?).

This fretfulness, this edge, it dissipates after a few days.  And as i reflected on the encounter, i saw it as just a fingernail, a nose hair, compared to the full-bodied terror that so many face from the bullies in their lives.  The trusted authority figure who is a secret molestor.  The abusive spouse.  The neighbor from hell.  The simple playground bully.  The sort of folks you can't just wait out in the comfort of a store lobby.  The sort of folks who follow you not to the next stop, but all the way home... or are waiting at home for you.  How it must wreck you to feel unable to escape.

I also thought about, not later but in the midst of it, what i would be teaching Jackson.  I talked to him about it later as we drove home from practice.  That there are times to fight and times to walk away.  That we fight for the important things in life - the protection of our familes, for example.  And that "fighting" doesn't necessarily mean using our fists, that we can fight with words, with persuasion, with lots of other means.  But this was one of those times where the smart man, the honorable man, walks away from the escalation.

I didn't extrapolate into a lesson about honking your horn, as i felt he learned that by observing this situation.  It's a lesson that will stick with him far longer, and with more import, than if i had merely warned him about honking.  Of course, and i know that this is what my dad is thinking, i could have avoided all this altogether had i heeded his advice not to honk at people in anger to begin with.

Getting on the Huckabee Bandwagon

I'd like to invite all my readers onto the Mike Huckabee bandwagon.  I hopped on back in February, and the train is gaining steam and passengers.  I welcome you aboard!

Mike is, of course, running for President.  He is a Republican, and most recently served as governor of Arkansas for 10 years.  If you know anything about Arkansas politics, you know how unusual it is to have a GOP governor there.  And yet Mike won elections, first as Lt. Governor, and then two different terms as the head of state.  I wasn't paying attention to all this at the time, but having watched him this past half-year, i can readily understand how Huckabee won over a majority of Arkansans.  He has this engaging, folksy, honest style that really connects with people.

In the course of this campaign, those traits are in full bloom, and the media gushes over him (how often do you see that of a conservative?).  When people get to hear his message, and get to know him, Mike wins hearts and votes.  So, it's dismaying (if not infuriating) to hear comments like this:  "I like Mike, and would support him if he had a chance to win."  I can only guess that such comments are based on poll numbers.  But early poll numbers are merely functions of name recognition.  When you see campaigns in full swing, and voters become engaged in actually making a real decision, Huckabee begins vaulting to the top tier.  I firmly believe this trend can continue countrywide, and that Mike Huckabee CAN win.  If the people who like him would get behind him, he WILL win the nomination.

I also believe he's the GOP's best chance to win the general election, too.  It's easy for me to see Huckabee pulling in moderates, without alienating the conservative base.  We don't have to compromise our ardent beliefs for a guy like Guliani.  We don't have to back a trust-fund flip-flopping game-show-host just because he's raised a ton of dough from his Wall Street pals and fellow Mormons.  We don't have to settle for a lazy guy who's a front-runner only because he's starred on a popular TV show.  With Huckabee, you can cast your vote proudly, without having to hold your nose.  We don't have to settle for a phony; in Huckabee, we can get the real deal.

Moderates and political skimmers will be attracted to Huckabee, again because of his engaging nature.  He's the consummate Sam's Club (that link is well worth your time to read) candidate, and not just because he's from Arkansas.  He connects, through his life history and his easy way of relating complex issues to everyday Americans, with regular folks, the bread and butter of America.  I think he's absolutely the right guy at the right time for our country.

If only as a courtesy to my passion, i encourage you to check out Mike's website, and to consider a donation, large or small, to Team Huckabee.  Consider it a contribution to an American political process that isn't solely about Hollywood luster or the ability to get millionaires behind you.  Consider it an investment in our future.  Do it for Mike.

Hanging Out at my Favorite Place

In a recent work meeting, doing introductions, we had to share our favorite place.  I said mine was my new deck.  That's where i'm writing this from right now. 

Got quite the setup going on this beautiful Saturday afternoon.  Sitting under the shade trees and the shade umbrella, pecking away on a laptop with a wireless network card.  Listening to random play-all on my Creative Zen mp3 player, running through my new portable speakers.  Sipping on a beverage from the state of Texas.  About 75 degrees.

Last few songs from artists like Rich Mullins (who died 10 years ago this week), Love Song, Foreigner, (the now defunct?) Nickel Creek, Barry Manilow.  Frank Sinatra.  There's Dolly singing an Eagles tune.

Julie's in the next chair, reading a Karen Kingsbury book.  When i get done writing, i have two books to turn to.  V.S. Naipaul's look at the American South, called A Turn in the South.  Or, Game of Inches, volume 2.

It was for days like today that we built this deck, and why we don't think about moving away from Winston-Salem.

In Need of Prayer (and a loan)

Caroline got her regular drivers license this past week, and can now legally drive without Julie or me in the car.  It was on Tuesday, 9/11.  I'm inclined to wise-crack on the date, but don't want to minimize true tragedy.

For a parent, as most of my readers surely already know, it may not be a tragedy, but it's traumatic.  How can a kid of 16 be nearly ready enough to drive?  Even with all that learners permit practice.  All by herself in the rough and tumble world of traffic.  At least we live in a bucolic city; i can't imagine what big-city parents must feel.

Caroline, of course, is loving her new-found freedom.  She comes home with a grin on her face.  I hear her pull into the garage, stereo blasting of course.  Doesn't take them long to learn that.  And, driving that Sebring convertible, i know she's going to draw extra stares from boys and young men.  Not a fun time for dad.

P.S.  Just kidding about the loan, but not the prayer.

Jackson starts coach-pitch

Jackson had his first game today in the coach-pitch league, his first time to step above t-ball.  The coaches don't actually pitch anymore, but use a mechanical contraption to spring-launch the pitches from the kids' eye level.  This is the fall-ball league, which is more laid-back than the spring/summer regular league.  Mostly the same kids, but no larger region tournaments to advance to, from what i can gather.

Since Jack didn't play in the spring, he comes in behind the other boys, but has already shown in practices an affinity for defensive glovework.  Bat needs work, but he'll get there.

That duality showed in the game today, as he struck out his first 2 times up, on 6 straight swings & misses.  Good form, but just no contact yet.  In the field, he saved a run from left field by stopping a single and getting it back to the infield quickly.  No hesitation, up and throwing.  A few innings later, now in center field, he fielded another single, and again came up throwing, this time straight to second base to force-out the runner from first.

I've watched other parents over the seasons hoot and holler for their kids.  Embarassingly so, i always thought.  A bit cloying and affected, as if to call attention to themselves; puffed up, as if their kid's skill was somehow validation for their worth as parents.  I thought of it somewhat like i think of those relatives who cheer the loudest at graduations - it's usually proportional to the likelihood that the particular graduation is the very last one they can hope to see for the kid.

I never once thought of it as a pure emotion.  But when Jackson made that play from center field, without an ounce of thought, i found myself jumping up and doing a fist pump (of all things), and was bemused to feel a huge grin on my face.  It was an absolutely pure emotion, nothing calculated, nothing filtered.  I was just so happy for my boy

P.S.  In his 3rd at-bat, Jackson stepped in with the bases loaded, and finally connected on a poke down the 3rd base line.  Let's call it a hit.  He came around to score a couple of batters later.

Baseball Buds

Just discovered this photo online at my friend Frank's website.  From left to right, those are my friends Neil, Frank, and Jay.  We were in Atlanta for our fantasy baseball auction, for the long-running Bullpen Central League.  Frank & Jay & i are the 3 founding fathers of that league. 

After the long day at the auction, we drove over to Frank's house for a visit.  His gracious wife Donna treated us to ice cream & brownies, before turning photographer.  We caught up on life's meanderings for all of us, reminisced about old times, from Earl Weaver computer baseball games to wacky outings to minor league parks around Atlanta to old co-workers (i guess i should say co-workers of old) from the Windsor days. 

It was a great way to end a long, arduous day.