We went for a drive

Anyone who has met us knows that we are not so different from anyone else. Some of our friends from our highschool days might disagree but I think we are not so different. I remember taking a weekend to go camping or some other family event. The weekend was grand. We enjoyed each others company and there was little bickering to be done. Dad had a few drinks (dad always had a few drinks) Not a problem for us, he seemed to tolerate it well and it made him a little easier to be around. Kind of took the edge off. Once the weekend was over, we headed towards the house. I think we were driving one of the Blazers that we owned while I was growing up. Dad had a temper and was always convinced that someone was tweaking him specifically. This was kind of a fatalist view that as we grew older we came to expect as normal. There were still times growing up when it burst into the forefront like water from a sun blister. The drive home turned into one of those occassions. Dad pulled up behind someone on the freeway riding close enough to burn his face on the guys exhaust pipe. Dad was an over the road driver so he had "mad" itimidation skills. After several minutes of putting pressure on this guy by flashing his lights, racing up to within a hair of his bumper and anything else he could think of, the man in front flipped my dad off in his side mirror. A war of half-wits had just begun. I think the man thought it was some kind of game. Dad took it as a straight insult. The race was on. We spent the next several miles racing down the freeway. Dad would swerve left, the truck in front would swerve right. The man in front would hit his brakes Dad would hit his brakes, then swerve then gas it up for another go. Mom and us kids, along with one of Kammys friends from school froze except for the action of our butts sucking up seat as we watched our lives pass by. The inside of the Blazer seemed to be in slow motion as my Dad took to the grassy median to pass the man in the truck. As we barrelled down the freeway with the sound of swooshing grass hitting the bottom of the Blazer, tears and fear mixed with the screams from the backseat, Dad hollered for mom to open the window. Dad screamed at the man in the truck "PULL OVER YOU SON OF A BITCH, SO I CAN KICK YOUR ASS" It was pretty obvious by the look of terror on the drivers face and pale bloodless tear filled face of the drivers wife that he had poked a stick in the cage of a wild animal that was my dad. As we pulled back on the pavement, the driver of the other vehicle moved over into the other lane. The whole time my dad was hollering obcenities out the passenger window, begging him to stop so he could show him who was boss. Dad was so busy trying to catch up and yelling out the window, he did not notice the upcoming exit. At the last minute from a speed of nearly 90 mph the driver of the other vehicle swerved off the exit. Dad missed the exit and the other driver faded off in the other direction. Dad, not wanting to be outdone, swerved into the median and made his way back to the exit determined to finish what he had started. Mom seemed barley audible to dad as his anger drowned out any reason. We made our way in the direction of the other vehicle. We never found him though we spent a lot of time looking. Later Dad made his way back to the freeway and eventually home. I often wondered if we did some good. Oh, I don't think dad learned anything but I am sure that when the other couple got home (and changed their soiled undergarments) they rethought their courtesy on the road. Ah, road rage, now thats a memory!