Driving in Dallas
July 23rd, 2003
Mamas, don’t let your children play so much on the
computer..
computer..
Aodán and Xander have a new game they like to
play when I am driving. One of them will announce, in an amazing sportscaster
voice for a child who has never seen televised sports, that the Great Green
Odyssey is in fourth place, and now being passed on the right by the Superpower
Snowball, now on the left the Mean Green Machine is taking the lead, ooh watch
out, from behind, here comes the Red Rocket. I think this comes in part from
some racing game they play on the computer, but I worry about my ability to tune
it out and drive safely. It’s very tempting to view Northwest Highway as a
giant racetrack, to want to get ahead, even to dehumanize my competitors, I
mean, fellow drivers, and instead think that the guy who just zoomed around me
to pass on the right and is now turning left, making me stop while all the
drivers behind me deftly pull into the center lane, trapping me, is just a
computer-generated obstacle, a test of my driving skills. Here we all are
trapped in all this glass and steel, no eye contact, and, this being Texas, I’m
sure someobdy is armed. I have to remind myself that the large SUV in front of
me is probably just driven by a nice person with lousy taste in cars and less
awakened environmental awareness, but it’s not about “us” and “them.” Still I
think I am going to have to train the kids to play some different games, to make
up stories like, “The poor man in that red sports car — his mother is very sick
and the only thing she thought would make her feel better is an ice cream
sundae, and he drove across town to find her favorite kind, and he’s so worried
about her.” And hope and pray that everybody around me isn’t listening to their
inner six year old, feeling grimly determined to “win.”
play when I am driving. One of them will announce, in an amazing sportscaster
voice for a child who has never seen televised sports, that the Great Green
Odyssey is in fourth place, and now being passed on the right by the Superpower
Snowball, now on the left the Mean Green Machine is taking the lead, ooh watch
out, from behind, here comes the Red Rocket. I think this comes in part from
some racing game they play on the computer, but I worry about my ability to tune
it out and drive safely. It’s very tempting to view Northwest Highway as a
giant racetrack, to want to get ahead, even to dehumanize my competitors, I
mean, fellow drivers, and instead think that the guy who just zoomed around me
to pass on the right and is now turning left, making me stop while all the
drivers behind me deftly pull into the center lane, trapping me, is just a
computer-generated obstacle, a test of my driving skills. Here we all are
trapped in all this glass and steel, no eye contact, and, this being Texas, I’m
sure someobdy is armed. I have to remind myself that the large SUV in front of
me is probably just driven by a nice person with lousy taste in cars and less
awakened environmental awareness, but it’s not about “us” and “them.” Still I
think I am going to have to train the kids to play some different games, to make
up stories like, “The poor man in that red sports car — his mother is very sick
and the only thing she thought would make her feel better is an ice cream
sundae, and he drove across town to find her favorite kind, and he’s so worried
about her.” And hope and pray that everybody around me isn’t listening to their
inner six year old, feeling grimly determined to “win.”
