My Road (R)age

“Mom, you need to work on your rode age,” Declan said from the backseat, “Just take a deep breath and calm down.”

My road age.

That seems about right.

Truth be told there is nothing that brings out the drunken sailor in my speech more than seeing another driver out on the road acting irresponsibly.

The head down, clearly TEXTING, while their car is moving forward.

Talking on a cell phone in a parking lot, trying to park a car awkwardly with one hand.

Or just blatantly holding a phone in clear view pressing all the buttons with no eyes on the road.

I don’t use my phone when I am driving. I don’t want my kids to see me using my phone yet telling them, “Don’t ever use your phone when you are driving.”

I send a clear message. The phone is away when I am behind the wheel. I don’t want them to see me using a phone, and get this, I DON’T WANT THEM TO SEE SOMEONE ELSE USING A PHONE WHILE THEY ARE DRIVING EITHER.

To me, the perfect key to get a car going would be this:

Your phone. There should be some insert point for the phone to go into for a car even to start.

I am an anxious driver around other bad drivers. Although it manifests into anger. I don’t want to see my family get hurt over someone else’s irresponsibility.  And my “road age” emerges.

Today I learned about and read the funniest obituary ever.

I know that sounds weird, but if you have read it then you know what I mean.

In the obituary for the late Joseph A. Heller, Jr., found here, his daughters make a lot of funny quips about the love for their dad in his life.

Pieces like:

“he met the love of his life, Irene, who was hoodwinked into thinking he was a charming individual with decorum. Boy, was she ever wrong. Joe embarrassed her daily with his mouth and choice of clothing.

he was perhaps, most well-known for his role as the Essex Town “Dawg Kecher.” He refused to put any of his “prisoners” down and would look for the perfect homes for them. One of them was a repeat offender who he named “A**hole” because no owner would ever keep him for very long because he was, in fact, an a**hole. My Dad would take his buddy on daily rides in his van and they’d roam around town with the breeze blowing through both of their fur.

Joe was a frequent shopper at the Essex Dump and he left his family with a house full of crap, 300 pounds of birdseed and dead houseplants that they have no idea what to do with. If there was ever a treasure that he snatched out from under you among the mounds of junk, please wait the appropriate amount of time to contact the family to claim your loot. We’re available tomorrow.

Besides his beloved wife, Irene, and brother, Bobby, Joe was pre-deceased by his pet fish, Jack, who we found in the freezer last week.

Joe faced his death and his mortality, as he did with his life, face on, often telling us that when he dropped dead to dig a hole in the back yard and just roll him in. Much to his disappointment, he will be properly interred with full military honors (and maybe Jack).

Sorry, Mom, Lisette and I did the best we could to take care of him and keep him out of your hair as long as we could. Back in your court now.”

Reading this obituary had me thinking about what mine would look like. I know my family would like to keep it nice, “Robyn was a very nice person if you got to know her.” But if they decided to “let it all out” I think you would find things like,

“She was very worked up about certain things.”

“She liked to run. A LOT.”

“The thing she yelled most? CLOSE THE FRONT DOOR BEFORE THE DOG GETS OUT!”

And

“My mom had a lot of road age.”

If you’re looking for a good laugh, check out the obituary. It really is a fun read. And for a public service message, please put your cell phone away when you are driving. It will help me work on my road age.