fisticuffs.

This afternoon in the city we were stopped behind a streetcar letting people out at a stop. The man in the car behind us was losing his mind. Laying on the horn, shouting, shaking the steering wheel. I smiled sweetly in the rear view mirror. My son looking back was wondering what his problem was. Didn’t he see the people getting out of the streetcar and the red light just beyond? My first thought was, buddy, let me tell you what that guy’s problem is; first he’s driving in a jeep with no windows and second he doesn’t have a shirt on. It’s hard to hold back at times like that. Instead I said, it’s important to remember that you can’t let others anger make your decisions or something like that.

I know exactly what I would tell my girls about that guy. Stay away from him. further elaboration involving that shirt wearing business and aggro neck veins popping out  With my sons, it’s different. I can wear a beneficent grin all I want and he (probably) won’t knock my teeth down the back of my throat but with them, he could. It is at this point that I realize I am out of my element. Little boy fisticuffs are light years from this cocksure macho behaviour they will be navigating.

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