A teenage boy crosses the street on a hot day.

Screech, BRAKES.

The headline above is my version of clickbait theatrics.

Truth though: I did brake sharply as the two teens crossed the street a very short distance ahead. One of them did a long strided, no eye contact casual speed up to effortlessly convey that he wasn’t hurrying, but he was aware of my presence.

This is about the other fellow though. Ten things that flooded through my mind ten minutes ago. Now, I’m waiting for a child to finish a theatre class and am going to pull this together, disjointed, in ten minutes.

For one, it’s hot. A dry hot, and the kind of hot you might not guess is coming in the first day-of-fall morning when you’re getting dressed and all of a sudden it’s 4.30 and you’re wearing long pants and a warm sweatshirt.

For two, who was his affectation and attitude about? Me, to convey his dismissal, his rejection of my superiority or right of way as a motorist, and by extension, my role as an elder?

Or was it about his friend? A little tiny bit of posturing to establish a desired attitude or presence, subconsciously or otherwise to his mate?

Or was it about himself, a small way to stand up for something or against something, to rebel, a tiny act of mostly-passive resistance to form a sense of self and confidence in a world in which he feels little power?

Or was it nothing? The small act that is habit after a hundred times. The crossing of a street outside the lines and refusing to move any faster for a figure - me - to whom is accorded the right of way by the rules and laws of our society.

But his knowledge that a small act of selfishness is still not punishable or actionable in any way beyond the honking of a horn or the screaming of epithets…

…which I did not do. Did not do, not because I didn’t want to. Because it irked me.

But I also had another child in the back. A boy turning into a man soon, or rather, one in process. And he is soaking up how I respond, what I do in my moments of being irked. I wanted to lean on the horn and let him know - from a safe distance, sort of like IRL social media - that I was irked with him.

I didn’t though. Not because I’m an especially kind human being, or because I have incredible impulse control, or because I am stone cold cool enough to not let little things bother me…

…I didn’t because I know he has a story.

A story I know nothing about, and can only conjecture. My guess is that my hypotheses and conjectures and explanations are far off. It’s okay.

There are a couple things I do well:

I try.
I ask questions.
And I remember the idiocies and failings of my own past.

I also recall some of the rude presence I have carried around with me at times, including as an adult, during times when I’m not feeling great about one thing or another.

The point is not that what he did was okay. It was rude and potentially risky.

The point is that I don’t know him.

I don’t know his story. At that point I wasn’t going to stop the car and initiate a friendship, though perhaps I might do some such thing upon some hot evening.

He shouldn’t have been rude in that small way. But what could I have done to educate or open his mind or heart to changing his behavior in the moment?

I don’t know. There may be a good answer. Point is, it’s times like these where I think a sense of empathy and wonder are incredible weapons.

Empathy and Wonder.

Not weapons to be wielded with aggression. Weapons to defend ourselves and others from our worst and most irritational impulses.

I take myself to that initial moment where I was enraged at this kid insolently strolling across my path, leaving the responsibility on me to keep him safe. By slowing down.

I am a fairly rational and level headed person who games a lot of scenarios out ahead of time. But I know that rush of rage that comes when someone disrespects you.

I know how to quickly rationalize rage-anger.

I know how powerful the impulse can be to make a point, to prove your correctness, to take aggressive action because you have been wronged or slighted…

…I know how quickly those things can escalate, even with rational, decent people involved.

Which is why I’m a big fan of deep breaths, and deep empathy, and the act of asking questions as mechanisms to protect ourselves…

Protection.

To protect ourselves, to protect others, and to protect ourselves from doing things or taking impulsive actions that may hurt others and come back around to hurt everyone involved.

Does that teenager have some learning to do? Yeah, for sure.

Am I still irked a little?

Yeah.

But I can imagine the life and the stories he might be carrying around, and for here, for then, for right now, it’s enough for me to let things go. To imagine that he’s a great kid having a bad day, and maybe what he needed was another person not honking or yelling at him.

I don’t know.

I’m not afraid to say I don’t know.

And I’m not afraid to imagine the lives of others.

I also think strongly that choosing the weapons that we carry around with us is critical to protect others and ourselves, especially in those many moments where many of us lose our cool, lose our ability to think clearly, and lose our ability to rationally, thoughtfully respond to a stressful or escalating situation.

Much love, all.

——