“Why in the Sam Hill don’t you watch where you’re going!” Grandpa sat back in his seat as Dad continued to drive.
Almost five years away from Driver’s Ed, I’d concentrated more on the scenery during the ride home than on the car in front of us. But Dad had just passed a car while pulling a small camper, and Grandpa showed his irritation with the driver as we rolled past.
Usually, our summer vacations meant a week in the Ozarks with my grandparents at their small store. However, this year they’d retired and we took them to Galveston with us for a dip in saltwater. A beachfront campground proved pleasant enough by daylight, but sunset brought hordes of voracious mosquitoes that sent us packing after two days. We went back to Lake Texoma, our first night’s stop, for some delightful time before heading homeward.
Until Dad found himself behind a car full of boys, apparently going to a baseball game. I don’t know why he passed the car on the two-lane highway, but it caused Grandpa to yell at the adult driver as we drove past.
The vacation gave me an opportunity to observe Dad, learning by his example. His patience and deliberate calm gave me lessons I’ve taken to heart in the nearly six decades since then.
This time, Dad taught me restraint when he sighed and spoke. “I wish you hadn’t said that, Walt.” That was it. No ranting or raving. No road rage as the other car passed us in revenge. Just those seven words, delivered in a conversational tone. Grandpa said nothing and the matter could have been forgotten, if it hadn’t been for a little boy in the back seat who learned a lesson he tried to pass on to his children years later.
William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.