Danger Ahead

I have a list of things that scare me:
1. Weapons of Mass Destruction.
2. Serial killers.
3. Cancer.
4. Spiders.
5. Spiders with cancer.
6. The monthly arrival of my Discover Card bill.

But nothing quite grips my heart with as much terror as the daily carpool. Every morning at dawn, I drive my daughter and her friend to the local high school. Little Squirt, my five-year-old, who’s ready for action by 5:30 am, comes along for the ride. I breath a quick prayer in preparation. Then I don my safety helmet, buckle in tightly, clutch the steering wheel in a death grip, notify my passengers to assume the “crash position,” put the car into gear, and we’re off. Off to an adventure that makes Nascar drivers look like wimps.

High-school students behind wheels are a frightening lot. Speeding, brake-squealing, loud-radio-listening, cell phone-talking, giggling, oblivious, hormonal-laden teenagers are navigating thousands of pounds of steel and having obvious death wishes on their way to school. They terrorize every other car on the road.

Ten minutes later, I pull up in front of the high school as my daughter and her friend jump out, and then I prepare for the fearful ride home. “We’re half-way to safety, Little Squirt,” I call encouragingly to the backseat, knowing full well that the worst of our adventure still lies ahead. This leg of the journey back is wrought with dangers on par with Odysseus’ return to his homeland.

This particular danger takes the form of a high school boy I refer to as “Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr.” As I turn onto Amberwood Dr., every single day, right on schedule, burning rubber in his SUV, “Dale” comes squealing around the corner, and careening into the left lane. I see him, with homicidal intent in his steely eyes, sneer as he comes within inches of smashing into my car, and sending me and Little Squirt into oblivion. My blood-pressure sky high, my pulse racing, I pull over to the side of the road, breathing heavily, cowering in fear, until Little Squirt says, “Mommy, he’s gone. You can open your eyes now.” Then I watch “Dale” from my rear-view mirror, driving off in the wake of engine fumes. And then we drive home. That’s our daily carpool routine. Which explains my breakfast martini.