Why can't we
go from point A to point B without pointing (and flipping) fingers? How
many times have you lost your vehicular focus while in the midst of an
expletive-fueled exchange with another driver? Much like Sully, though
on a much smaller scale, we have precious children to deliver to
school, yet we drive like Evel Knievel (who by the way, is deceased). I
remind myself to keep calm at all times.

One of my pet peeves
has always been driving in Somerville. Every time I strap myself into
my vehicle, it's on. I'm in the Highland Derby. It's every man for
himself in the war of the roads. Trying to get your kid from Central
Street (their Mom's house) to the West Somerville Neighborhood School
by 8:16 am is nerve wracking to say the least. It's an ever changing
experience that holds new and terrifying twists and turns each day.
Again, I utter: "calm it down, pally…" to myself.

The initial
ritual for the mad morning rush is the coffee stop – the fuel for the
fuel-ish. Here is my experience. I say "large black decaf" and they say
"sugar?" and then I say "no…large black decaf" and they say "cream?"
and I say "no…large black decaf" and they say "milk?" At that point I
say "nevermind" and proceed to just lick the condensation on the inside
of my windows, instead of trying to convey my order anymore. By now I
am livid – and I try to suck a little of the frozen water out of the
plastic bottle that has been there in the vehicle all night. For the
record, the decaf hasn't been helping me keep calm. I finally got hip
and started making my own java in the morning – once more I say to
myself, take it down a notch nut case.

The fun starts with
trying to get the kids out of bed – both boys have to put their contact
lenses in first. I said first – which means the other kid can't be in
the way. I won't bore you with the rest of the routine, because you
probably know how it goes: "where's my sweatshirt?" "where's my shoes?"
"where's my back pack?" (where's Daddy's medication?) Then I hear
something along the lines of "I wanted milk, not orange juice!" You
know that if I had yelled upstairs to ask "milk or OJ", then I become
the first person of the morning who raised his voice – and then it's on
– Daddy is in a bad mood!

At some point every morning, I hear
the words that all parents cringe at: "I still didn't finish my
homework…" Steam then comes out of my ears and no dose of blood
pressure medicine will help. And to make matters worse, here comes that
other daily pain in the ass word: "shotgun!" followed by a minute of
"you had it yesterday" and "but I called it first." I know why they
call it shotgun, because you think about getting one as the squabble
escalates. To make matters worse, my truck is guzzling gas in the
driveway as it keeps warm for the squawking siblings. Count to
10…What would Sully do?

Now it's finally traffic time. Don't
you love those geniuses who scrape only a 4 inch by 3 inch rectangular
spot through their snow and ice covered windshield? Who are these
morons? It's like they are driving a Sherman Tank. They can't see
behind them or to their sides because they were in such a panic to
bring their mayhem to rush hour, they had only one minute to clear off
their car. They couldn't go the extra 10 minutes and finish cleaning
their vehicle? I particularly enjoy when I am behind these jug heads
when the 2 foot by 2 foot wall of snow blows off their crap box and
completely covers my windshield. Thank you for endangering my family!

So
the kids are in the truck, and we're off to the races. The stop signs
and flashing red lights mean nothing to drivers – if anything, they
mean "slow down only a little, glance briefly and then floor it…"
Then it's cat and mouse. Is he letting me go? Should I boot it and cut
him off? If I stop for this guy, I'll be here for an hour. Damn, so
many choices, so little time. I knew I shouldn't have hit the Rotary, I
could have gone through Teele Square. And if you do let someone go in
front of you, like the 3-piece suited guy with too much gel in his hair
who is on the cell phone, don't expect a "thank you." Gordon Gecko is
too busy making deals on the phone to thank the little people.

I
become the biggest idiot at the rotary because I have evolved into a
serious defensive competitor. Sorry, but no one is cutting me off
(unless it's Tim Mitsatkis, Mikey Deveraux, Joe McCain or Bill Nolan –
or some other cop ). I stop at my stop sign, then I'm off like a (fill
in the blank – e-mail me with the phrase you think I wanted to put
there).

And let me tell you, if you think I'm not going fast
enough up Powder House Boulevard and you're on my tail, I will only go
slower! Count to 15…think like Sully.

Even at Christmas there
was nothing but hatred and competition on the road. And I believe some
people's cell phones are glued to their ear and their arm is stuck that
way. What, do you have the 20,000 any-time minute plan? Hang it up! In
the old days, we just waited for a call from the school nurse or
principal to discover that Bobby got stuck with a pencil or Billy threw
up on the teacher's desk. We all have to chill out.

I usually
spend the entire ride to school reading another chapter of the riot act
to my kids. Today's lesson was: "don't use that tone with me – I'm your
father and you will respect me…" Yesterday's was: "if you mumble
under your breath at me again, I am locking the Play Station 3 in my
closet…" So as you can see, parenting, along with competition
driving, goes hand in hand. Count to 20…be like Sully.

I can't
wait for them to experience the bus – you are not a true Somerville kid
until you have frozen your cheeks off waiting for the bus to school.

My
kids are young and I am old. I am a 55 year old dyed-in-the-wool
Somerville kid. I will be out there driving them around for quite some
time to come. I love my city passionately, but I hate you when you are
on the road. I also hate you drivers from surrounding cities and towns
who wreak vehicular havoc also. I hate you especially when you are at
the rotary. And to you lazy drivers – and you know who you are – clean
the whole car off for God's sake. Get up earlier, buy some gloves, get
a scraper, and become a member of the human race. And let's all try to
calm down – especially at the rotary – because I follow the rules and I
am definitely going to win. I have had 38 years experience at it. And
to all you other seasoned Somerville drivers like me – we should get
some kind of special flashing beacon (or finger) on top of our vehicles
so we can recognize each other, and be extra courteous to our peeps.

What would have happened if that hero pilot "Sully" lost his cool and drove like the nuts we share the road with in the morning?

By
the way, I had a friend named Sully (or Fitzie or Obie) who once saved
a 16 ounce can of Budweiser from rolling off the rocks at Powder House
Park! Ok, not the same, but a little bit relatable, no?