Road Rage 1979

I was talking with my classmates about road rage a while back. I've never really had anything serious happen except getting the finger once in a blue moon, but it made me think about the worst incident I ever experienced (still very tame by today's standards). I was nine years old and my parents were driving me to a little league game.

Let me set the stage. Thanks to his background as a school disciplinarian, my Dad knew how to inspire fear (hence the lack of any significant teenage rebellion on my part). All he had to do was look at me and I'd wet myself. My Mom, on the other hand, was quiet, reserved and often played beauty to his beast.

We were driving down a one-lane road en route to the game. We were obviously too slow for the person behind us because he drove around my Dad, cutting him off in the process. Now my Dad was pissed, but he didn't lose it. What he did not see, but which I did from the back seat, was my mother flipping off the other motorist. Then the guy flipped us off and sent my Dad into a rage. He had no idea my Mom did it first.

He sped up like a madman to catch this guy and turned into the ball field lot (where we were going anyway.) The other guy got out of his car and, from what I remember, he was a twenty-something, white trash-looking skell with a pretty vacant expression. My father launched into an expletive-laden tirade that shook the car – but he didn't get out. He cursed this guy into next week and the skell just stood there. I was waiting for him to pull out a gun and just shoot my Dad so he'd shut up.

When Dad was done the skell walked away and drove off. My father turned to my mother, still fuming, and was going on about how that guy cut him off, then had the nerve to give him the finger. My mother said nothing. He turned to me, and I was like Roger Rabbit, flat as a board, and glued to the seat with an expression of sheer terror. He said, "Are you OK? I'm sorry I got so mad."

All I could muster was, "Mom gave that guy the finger!!"