ll things
considered, I guess the timing could have been worse. It could have
come about when I reached the stage of a bonafide “old codger.” In
that case, I might have resisted. Instead, I have embraced my new
designation as “The Slowest Driver in the World.”
The
transition from normal, slightly over the speed limit driver was, of
course, not a voluntary one. The combination of a hulking, gas
guzzling, non-environmentally sound SUV and the gas crisis prompted
the switch.
To the extent
that it was an adjustment to slow down my Armored Personnel Carrier
in order to get more than six miles per gallon came gradually. In
other words, the higher the gas prices went, the lighter my foot
pressed on the pedal.
As of last
week, I had reached the point where I’m hardly moving at all when I
leave for work. That’s not a giant black tortoise you think you see
in the road, it’s me. Driving slow has its moments, but best of all,
it has brought my teenage daughter and I closer together.
Of course,
getting closer together with a 14-year-old daughter doesn’t
necessarily mean what most people would think it means. In other
words, there is no bonding respect and appreciation going on here.
Mainly, it just means that when we are in the car together, creeping
down the road, she is willing to acknowledge my presence. It goes
something like this.
We were on
our way to the mall the other day, affectionately known as the
Bankruptcy Junction – the place where teenagers go to spend someone
else’s money on clothing that has a brand on it which is designed to
go out style in exactly 15 days from the date of purchase, and from
hence, will immediately be stuffed into a burgeoning closet where it
will never be seen again, let alone actually worn … . Oh, sorry,
that’s a different column. The older I get, the more I digress.
Anyway, all
of a sudden, in one of those timeless Father-Daughter moments, she
blurted out “Dad, what are you doing?”
Somewhat
confused, I told her, “I’m driving you to the mall so you can spend
my money on something that you’ll wear once and discard.”
“No,” she
objected, “I mean why are you going so slow? People are staring at
us.” After living in TeenageLand for only two years, I’ve learned
that someone is ALWAYS starring at us no matter where we are or what
we are doing.
“But I’m
going the speed limit, dear,” I protested.
“I know,” she
said, “you look like a geek.” I’ve concluded that “geek” is now the
multi-purpose term of the new century that can be applied to anyone
at anytime, but is preferably applied to your dad whenever he places
you in the Red Zone of potential embarrassment.
“Well, what
do I care if someone I don’t know and will never see again for all
of eternity thinks I’m a geek?”
“Because!”
she screeched, using the other multi-purpose word of the century
that can apparently never be overused.
Given my
parental mindset, I couldn’t resist responding in a predictable, but
totally useless way: “Because why?”
“Because
someone I know might see me.”
Fortunately,
we arrived at the mall before the utter collapse of Western
Civilization. As she got out of the car, my credit card in hand, she
politely asked me to stay in the car, which I didn’t really mind.
It gave me
the chance to reflect on the future of my relationship with my
oldest daughter. And as I sat there, I realized that gas crisis or
not, I actually can’t wait until I transition into a certified
codger in a big boat of a car taking up two lanes of traffic as I
plod along at 20 miles an hour. It will send her completely over the
edge.
