When you have small children you get a lot of silent or not so silent supervision, surveillance, by neighbors and other strangers. The other day while driving with my nine year old son alongside me in the passenger seat, I gave the finger to an errant, bullying driver. Stopped at a light he got out of his SUV (SUV drivers are convinced they rule the highway so I pray daily for their demise, especially the drivers of black SUVs that look like a hearse) and started to walk toward me. Not anxious to engage in fisticuffs, abandoning my vehicle at a red light, I rolled up my window. He retreated. Not done yet the driver caught up with me and yelled at me from the passenger side that he was going to follow me and break off my finger in front of my son. I told my son to yell at him that his gas tank was open, which it was, flapping in the breeze and me with no lit cigarette to flip into the aperture. That seemed to sober him up and there was no further confrontation.
You do not, I trust, need me to explicate the Freudian overtones in this everyday highway incident? If you would, perchance, be amused by my take on it I'd be happy to oblige. More than happy.
Barry
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