Mike gets nervous about being mentioned in my blog. He's always worried that I will portray him in a bad light or something. Okay, sometimes I pick on him and call him the south end of a north bound horse, but only when it's part of humorous back and forth banter. Let's just say he gives every bit as good as he gets. Nevertheless, he was pleased that my daughter's response to my last post seemed sympathetic to him. I'm an excellent back seat driver.
Amy remembers (everything, and) a time when her father was driving at night. I don't remember everything but I think we were returning home from a performance of The Nutcracker, a trip of about 70 miles in the pitch dark. I was nodding off as my first husband drove south along route 7 between Burlington and Rutland. At some point I woke up enough to open my eyes, and with that vision that is not so acute nor well-trained, I saw the headlights of a north moving semi heading straight at us. My, god! We were going to be killed. My life flashed before my eyes. I think I yelled, "Look out!" and I know I grabbed the wheel and pulled it very hard to the right sending us onto a narrow gravel shoulder. Fortunately my husband was an excellent driver and managed to counteract my "help"--saving us from disaster.
It's not that anyone would deny that I am, indeed, an excellent back street driver; it's just everyone wishes I would actually be in the back seat--blindfolded and my mouth taped shut.
Control issues? Who, me?