Our house sits near an elementary school. The road to said school passes directly in front of our home and we get to watch the daily parade of harried Moms and Dads dropping off their progeny at the doors of learning then rush off to their own day of fun filled dragon slaying. And all of this is accomplished at 15 miles per hour.
Normally, the people who go up and down this particular street are here for specific reasons that are decent and respectable. Kids to school, visiting Grandma at the old folks home across the street, attending the nice church across the street or because they live in one of the neighborhoods that connects via side streets to the 'main drag' running in front of my mailbox.
Decent and respectable. And well under the speed limit.
However, there are others. . .
One of the principle others is a teenage boy, who, if he isn't careful won't make it past his teens. He gets off work at the Taco Bell around 11 or so and comes home with his extra rumbly muffler and the heavy boom boom boom of his stereo system (which is worth more than the car and it's fuzzy dice are combined!).
We FEEL his approach. It's like getting a zap from the defibrillator as his car comes down the road. You can feel the heavy bass tingle of the boom boom boom vibrating right up through your...well, you get the idea.
By the time he reaches the first driveway to the old folks home, he meets up with boom boom #2, who equals both the volume and intensity of boom boom #1. There is some middle of the road chit chat. Then apparently invisible to the naked adult eye, the gauntlet is thrown down and the race begins.
Tires spin, smoke pours from the burning rubber and the peel out leaves dark and obvious marks on the asphalt as they careen westward toward the usually deserted stretch of our road that heads out into the county (a road which, for some inexplicable reason, has been given a DIFFERENT NAME once it passes out of the intersection!).
I have called the police - not because I am a spoilsport (I have been known to peel out and lay some rubber myself) but because at that hour of the night, I have no desire to be ringside at Talledega for the speed trials. And it happens right in front of my house!!! Vroom, vroom.
Trust me. The thrill is gone.
Nightly repetitions of this event during the summer months in particular are a bit jarring since they invite friends. Especially jarring when you are trying to compel a teenage boy to GO TO BED! Even those who aren't able to do so desire to express their 'need for speed'. It's a testosterone thing.
As built in and hardwired as being male is to their anatomy, the testosterone rush of slipping past an adversary while behind the wheel of a muscle car is a powereful rush that cannot be denied. While some would say that it's all in good fun, my worry is not just tonight, but all those nights potentially to come . . .
Can they keep this just a surface game? Will they be able to just have fun and walk away?
Because I am a mother now, the thoughts that race past the pace car in my mind have more to do with injury, insurance and inability to negotiate a sharp turn at high speeds. Those things NEVER crossed my mind when I was a kid or even when I was in my 20's.
They cross it now.
And they make regularly scheduled command performances as well as fabulous vacation pitstops better known as guilt trips.
But I remember well slamming the hammer down, watching the needle climb into the red zone and grinning like a possum when I left someone in the dust.
While I know that maturity and wisdom do not come to everyone at the same time or to everyone period, I know that some things never seem to lose their appeal. That's why NASCAR is such a big hairy deal in the South.
Even grandmas with beehive hairdo's want to blow past some geezer straddling the center line on their way to Piggly Wiggly. The most tame and gentle Deacon at the Baptist church secretly wishes that he could be the one to turn pretty boy Jeff Gordon into a pile of goo at the finish line when he roars past to claim the checkered flag for himself.
I get it.
That's why I try to let the good times roll... right up till midnight. After that, just call me 'Marion the Librarian'.
Even the most die hard race fan needs some sleep. In my dreams I can actually win at Talledega Superspeedway. Even if I'm a girl.
Take that Danica Patrick!
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