30 Life Lessons - Mr. Christopher and the Car Ride
- Douglas McCall
- Oct 17, 2024
- 3 min read
As a twelve-year-old, I had a reasonably well-developed skill for figuring out what annoyed people and using it to cause trouble. Perhaps all kids that age have that figured out, maybe not. In any case, I remember one summer day when I used this skill a little too effectively.
It was a lovely summer day, and my two best friends and I were on a trip to visit the Genesee County Museum, which was dedicated to recreating the frontier lifestyle. It had rustic buildings, blacksmiths, butter churns, and everything else you expect to find in a frontier town recreation. It was all somewhat interesting. I remember taking a few neat pictures that, thanks to the technology of the 80s, I got to see two or three weeks later.
However, the museum experience is not the focal point of my story. The journey there is of much greater interest. I cannot remember whether we were headed there or back, and I suppose it doesn’t matter. The Genesee County Museum was a 45 or so-minute drive from my home, and most of the drive is along the New York State Thruway (a detail which will become important later). The Thruway is a limited-access toll road that covers NYS west to east from Buffalo to NYC.
My friend Jonathan and I had known each other since kindergarten or first grade. When we got into 6th grade, and all the students from the five elementary schools joined, we added John (yes, my two best friends growing up were John and Jon!). This road trip was the first time we had gone anywhere together, and John’s father was driving.
At the age of twelve, I was not particularly well-versed in politics (not that I am today either). John, however, was, and he came by it honestly as his parents were quite politically active. I understood the basics of Democrats and Republicans and knew that John and his family were active Republicans. I also learned that people who were active on one side or the other reacted unpredictably when their side was challenged.
I don’t remember the nature of the conversation, but at some point, to cause trouble and be funny, I blurted out something that, loosely interpreted, meant “Republicans suck.”
I could not have predicted what happened next. The car, traveling 55 miles an hour, came to a halt on the shoulder of the road. As John, Jon, and I looked at each other, John Sr. whipped his head around, locked eyes with me, pointed to the car door, and said, “OUT!”
I knew we were on a major highway, so I looked as though I was about to challenge his statement, and he sternly repeated himself, “OUT!”
I sheepishly unbuckled my seatbelt, opened the car door, and exited the car on the highway. I shut the car door and stood there. Surely he wasn’t actually going to leave me there?! But then, the vehicle began moving, and he started driving slowly down the road. He didn’t go far, but it was enough to frighten a confused middle schooler. He eventually stopped the car, and the door I exited swung open. I heard, “Alright, get in!” I ran up to the car and got in. We continued on our journey. I don’t think I said anything in the car for the rest of the trip. I did not know what to make of John Sr. at that point. Over the years, I have come to appreciate his unique sense of humor, which his son has inherited. However, that first experience was a bit shocking to my system.
I learned from that moment to always be careful of what you say. You never know how the other person in the conversation will react to your statements. John Sr. was probably not offended but wanted to drive the point home to a precocious pre-adolescent. I am glad he did. I recall that story fondly, and I miss John Sr. dearly (he passed away far too soon). Thanks, Mr. Christopher!
Be well!
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