Nervous sandwich

May

You already know my teenage son is driving. But I’ve never mentioned that my mother is Mario Andretti.

I’ve been visiting my mother a lot. She likes to drive. She’s an excellent driver. I’ve suggested several times that she might want to make extra money driving a cab in the city, but she waves me away. Not interested. Too much traffic.

My son, as you know, is also a good driver. He is, more precisely, a driver with good intentions. He’s focused, with an excellent sense of direction. He also likes to keep me guessing. Will he stop before we slam into the car in front of us? Will we make it around the curve without ripping down some bushes? Will we flip over as he swerves to avoid that cute bird that just flew down in front of us?

Between my mother and my son, I’ve gotten bruised up along both sides of my thighs. From my fingernails.

Last weekend, I marveled as my mother showed me a fancy shortcut to Macy’s. We ducked through sidestreets, circumvented traffic jams, raced past Sunday drivers and arrived victorious in under five minutes. It would have taken me fifteen. You see, I had offered to drive. But my mother wasn’t in the mood. ‘You’re too slow,’’ she said.

This morning, I sat next to my son, yet again, as we made that nail-biting trip to school. Every morning I promise myself I will not shriek or get hysterical or hold onto that hanging strap. And yet, I can’t help it.

“Brake brake brake now,’’ I screamed, as we careened toward a stopped car. He got mad. Of course he was going to stop. But I’m not completely unpopular. One of his friends, he said, actually likes driving with us as I go nuts. He says it’s like a TV show.

Funny or pathetic? I’m not sure. But I’m going to treat my thighs to a few days off the road this weekend.

How about you?

This entry was posted on Friday, May 8th, 2009 at 2:34 pm by Linda Lombroso.
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One Response to “Nervous sandwich”

Steve C. May 11th, 2009 at 1:04 pm
too funny!

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