Road rage

[by Samara]

In 2005, Beth and I bought a house in Johnson City, and the rest of our siblings were living with Dad on the Tree Streets. It was nice having all the siblings in one town for the first time in years—so naturally, being the bullheaded 25-year-old that I was, I moved three hours away. (Ultimately, it was the right move for my career. And I made a couple of really close friends. But I missed my family and friends greatly.) At that point in my life, the only person I'd ever seen with road rage was Dad. He was kind of notorious for it and actually wrecked several cars in a rage over the years. He'd say it wasn't his fault these idiots didn't know how to drive. He had lived in New York and he had a short fuse. He could not believe the idiots and morons they let get drivers licenses in this town. "Do you want to see what an idiot looks like?" he'd say, as we pulled up beside someone at a red light. "This. This is what an idiot looks like." He'd point at them. I'd be so embarrassed. But he was right. People are idiots. It's funny looking back because I never understood that until I moved to Chattanooga. In 2007, I landed my "first gig in the biz" (said Dad) at a weekly newspaper. Dad was so proud. He just knew this was the first step in a big career for me. It made me prouder of myself. Our office was on the 21st floor of the tallest building downtown. My house was across the river from downtown. The commute was only 5 miles but it took me 30-45 minutes each morning. On my first day driving into work, traffic was terrible. Idiots pushing their way through gridlocked traffic. I was overcome with rage. People were being inconsiderate. They were rude. They didn't use blinkers. They cut you off within inches. They didn't let you merge onto your exit. Morons! At some point that first month or so, I called Dad on my morning commute. I can't say our conversations reduced my rage, but they were always was a welcome distraction. He could relate to the idiots. He let me vent about them and that helped. He'd update me on every member of my family—sisters, brother, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, family friends. He'd ask about my day yesterday and about the day ahead. He loved hearing work stories. He loved giving advice. And as I pulled into the parking garage each morning, I'd answer one more "what else?" with "I don't know, I guess that's it" and we'd vow to do it again soon.