During hunting season, I take my husky out to the state land after dark. Sure, this makes running on forest trails a bit tricky, but if not that, I’d have to run along the canal trail with endless headlights in my face, or not run at all, or risk the hunters. So I run at night.
About seven o’clock, on my way to the dirt road down to the Stoney Pond trails, I passed a pickup in the parking area, apparently with someone there. I slowed my car and turned the headlights to check it out—some guy in an orange vest just sitting on the tailgate, patiently waiting. I had my suspicions, but he seemed fine, and since I could do nothing, continued.
After parking and running for about a quarter of a mile, my suspicions were likely confirmed. Blam! Blam! Just two shots, and this guy presumably got his deer, illegally, probably even driving over to pick it up. And not unique—a friend who lives 20 miles south of here reports that she hears shots daily before dawn (also illegal), and another woman I frequently run across walking her dog reports chasing hunters off her land regularly.
A few springs ago, I ran into a young guy carrying a bow and arrow, pregnant wife trotting behind him, campers from the campsite half a mile away. “Seen any geese?” he asked. How could I not. I had my dog on a retractable leash precisely because we saw plenty of geese, raising their goslings. Definitely not in season, and for good reason. He even suggested my dog could flush them for him (she’d hunt them herself, however). I declined.
Disregard for the law seems widespread. At first a few, and now many or even most of the nutty drivers doing dumb moves on the road are, as I take a look, on their cell phones. Let’s not even get into speeding or stop signs. Laws apply to other people. We’re a nation of law-breakers.
Starts at the top. The Bush Administration’s “interpretation” of U.S. law the Constitution has been creative at best. During the Nixon Administration’s woes, the mantra was “the President is not above the law.” Contrast that with Cheney’s contention that the administration makes reality.
What do we do with this? The U.S. is in a never-ending war in Iraq because of the Cheney/Rumsfeld version of reality proved either stupid or an outright lie. Certainly the White House lied about the details leading to the conflict. Now the news that the rhetoric about Iran’s nuclear progress is untrue—and was reported to the White House months ago.
What happens when the government actually does tell the truth, should that ever happen? How would we know?
And how can we pretend to be a nation of laws when both government and citizenry ignore those laws they find inconvenient?
We have found the enemy, as Pogo used to report, and “they is us.”
Writer
Showing posts with label speeding. Show all posts
Showing posts with label speeding. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Dad's Driving
Among the most tedious scenarios imaginable is going to dinner with a married couple as a single person. They argue about a wide range of the most trivial points, often without even realizing they do it. This is all the worse when that couple is my dad and stepmom.
Roughly once a year, they stop by to take me to dinner, and having then discharged their parently duties, move along on their travels through retirement. While I checked the menu, my stepmom insisted, “No, you were speeding,” with the hint of a smirk. Dad looked unhappy, noting “They just lie in wait for out of state license plates,” looking to me for support. “Actually, Dad—I’m a bit afraid to ride with you.”
He looked at me, 1/3 miffed and 2/3 genuinely curious. “Why?” he asked.
Dad has always sped. He used to build mini-racers with his best friends—long friends right through when both of their wives passed away in retirement. He raced the back roads of rural western New York, leaving air beneath the car as he crested hills, disdaining yellow speed warnings as he rounded curves, counting on his self-assessed superior driving skills. This perception continues, as he tailgates cars at high speed, drives without heed even in dangerous weather, and regrets only that he’s forced to share the road with drivers so inferior to himself—the ones for whom traffic laws are written.
One, in a snowstorm that should have prevented travel, Dad insisted on driving me to my music lesson (as I finished shoveling two feet of snow from the driveway, and much to the astonishment of my music teacher). “We can make it,” he insisted. We did. Another time, he hit a kid on a bicycle. Things like this aren’t discussed in my family, so I know only what little I could gather—that the parents sued, that a settlement was reached, and to my dad, clearly the problem was the kid pulling out on his bicycle. Yet another time, while Dad was giving me a ride to school, I warned him that a certain curve, almost a U-turn, was certainly a 20 m.p.h. zone as posted. “Really?’ Dad asked, as he pulled around it at twice the speed. Thrown to the other side of the road, all he offered was, “I guess so. That IS a sharp curve.” I was just glad no cars were coming down the hill in the other direction.
I’m not unappreciative. I got to every music lesson. I got to every rehearsal. I got to every Scout meeting, every swim lesson, every campout. That 20 m.p.h. curve was on the way to a professional meeting—my dad got up at four to drive an hour to my home, pick me up, and drive me an hour to a 7 a.m. meeting when my car was in the shop. He then drove me home at the end of the day and took me to pick up my car. And let's not forget those four hour trips to and from college.
Once, my teenage fight with my mom boiled over into all out war—horrible things were said, mom resorted to throwing things, and I left. I had no prospects and nowhere to go, of course, so when I calmed down a bit, I had to call. Dad picked up the phone, and calmly, quietly asked, “Are you ready to come home?” I was. “Where are you?” he said simply. He picked me up. No lecture, no scowl—just a ride home. End of the matter.
Ironically, my daredevil dad taught me to drive (when my mom gave up in frustration over our battles). These lessons became habits I practice to this day. Always signal, even at 3 a.m. when no one’s around to see. Always check all around the car when merging. Not to mention change the oil, change the oil, change the oil—and rotate the tires. I drove my last car 199,974 miles before it threw a rod. Safety, safety, safety.
I’m no saint. When I broke my collarbone in karate, for example, my sister listened to the account, then observed, “You were showing off, weren’t you?” Don’t you hate it when someone knows you that well?
I AM a careful driver—cautious, looking ahead, defensive, keeping my ego in check as other drivers act recklessly. Except in the morning when I’m in a hurry and running late. And that I often drive when I’m tired. And distracted. Kinda mitigates all that safety, doesn’t it?
To lower my insurance, I took a six hour driving course. Now that I’ve taken a few, I recommend them (although this depends greatly on the instructor)—I learned far more than I’d have thought. My dad approved, noting that my stepmom takes one every year through AARP. No mention of Dad needing or taking one.
A key difference between Dad and me is that I drive to get places. It just needs doing. Dad drives because he loves to drive. He doesn’t need a reason. The morning of my mother’s funeral, he had to run errands. I went with him. We needed salt for the water softener. We needed tomatoes—roma tomatoes, since they’re best in salads, and we had a lot of people coming to the house. We had to stop for a lottery ticket—hey, you never know. The essentials. Dad needed to drive.
Long retired, Dad drives. He drives to Florida for half the year from central New York, relishing the trip I would dread. He travels all over the U.S. and Canada, just as he did on vacations before retirement—he and my mom drove to Alaska twice. I got a postcard this week from Arizona—as far west as I have ever been—Dad’s on his way to visit California. Doesn’t know for sure when he’ll be back.
One day, age will betray me. I worry about this. I live far out in the country, and I cherish my home. We don’t have busses or taxies, and I can’t simply walk to the grocery store or the pharmacy. When I can no longer drive, I don’t know what I will do.
When not traveling, my dad and stepmom live much closer to civilization. My dad is in excellent health, but one day, when he can no longer drive, I don’t know what he’ll do.
Writer
Roughly once a year, they stop by to take me to dinner, and having then discharged their parently duties, move along on their travels through retirement. While I checked the menu, my stepmom insisted, “No, you were speeding,” with the hint of a smirk. Dad looked unhappy, noting “They just lie in wait for out of state license plates,” looking to me for support. “Actually, Dad—I’m a bit afraid to ride with you.”
He looked at me, 1/3 miffed and 2/3 genuinely curious. “Why?” he asked.
Dad has always sped. He used to build mini-racers with his best friends—long friends right through when both of their wives passed away in retirement. He raced the back roads of rural western New York, leaving air beneath the car as he crested hills, disdaining yellow speed warnings as he rounded curves, counting on his self-assessed superior driving skills. This perception continues, as he tailgates cars at high speed, drives without heed even in dangerous weather, and regrets only that he’s forced to share the road with drivers so inferior to himself—the ones for whom traffic laws are written.
One, in a snowstorm that should have prevented travel, Dad insisted on driving me to my music lesson (as I finished shoveling two feet of snow from the driveway, and much to the astonishment of my music teacher). “We can make it,” he insisted. We did. Another time, he hit a kid on a bicycle. Things like this aren’t discussed in my family, so I know only what little I could gather—that the parents sued, that a settlement was reached, and to my dad, clearly the problem was the kid pulling out on his bicycle. Yet another time, while Dad was giving me a ride to school, I warned him that a certain curve, almost a U-turn, was certainly a 20 m.p.h. zone as posted. “Really?’ Dad asked, as he pulled around it at twice the speed. Thrown to the other side of the road, all he offered was, “I guess so. That IS a sharp curve.” I was just glad no cars were coming down the hill in the other direction.
I’m not unappreciative. I got to every music lesson. I got to every rehearsal. I got to every Scout meeting, every swim lesson, every campout. That 20 m.p.h. curve was on the way to a professional meeting—my dad got up at four to drive an hour to my home, pick me up, and drive me an hour to a 7 a.m. meeting when my car was in the shop. He then drove me home at the end of the day and took me to pick up my car. And let's not forget those four hour trips to and from college.
Once, my teenage fight with my mom boiled over into all out war—horrible things were said, mom resorted to throwing things, and I left. I had no prospects and nowhere to go, of course, so when I calmed down a bit, I had to call. Dad picked up the phone, and calmly, quietly asked, “Are you ready to come home?” I was. “Where are you?” he said simply. He picked me up. No lecture, no scowl—just a ride home. End of the matter.
Ironically, my daredevil dad taught me to drive (when my mom gave up in frustration over our battles). These lessons became habits I practice to this day. Always signal, even at 3 a.m. when no one’s around to see. Always check all around the car when merging. Not to mention change the oil, change the oil, change the oil—and rotate the tires. I drove my last car 199,974 miles before it threw a rod. Safety, safety, safety.
I’m no saint. When I broke my collarbone in karate, for example, my sister listened to the account, then observed, “You were showing off, weren’t you?” Don’t you hate it when someone knows you that well?
I AM a careful driver—cautious, looking ahead, defensive, keeping my ego in check as other drivers act recklessly. Except in the morning when I’m in a hurry and running late. And that I often drive when I’m tired. And distracted. Kinda mitigates all that safety, doesn’t it?
To lower my insurance, I took a six hour driving course. Now that I’ve taken a few, I recommend them (although this depends greatly on the instructor)—I learned far more than I’d have thought. My dad approved, noting that my stepmom takes one every year through AARP. No mention of Dad needing or taking one.
A key difference between Dad and me is that I drive to get places. It just needs doing. Dad drives because he loves to drive. He doesn’t need a reason. The morning of my mother’s funeral, he had to run errands. I went with him. We needed salt for the water softener. We needed tomatoes—roma tomatoes, since they’re best in salads, and we had a lot of people coming to the house. We had to stop for a lottery ticket—hey, you never know. The essentials. Dad needed to drive.
Long retired, Dad drives. He drives to Florida for half the year from central New York, relishing the trip I would dread. He travels all over the U.S. and Canada, just as he did on vacations before retirement—he and my mom drove to Alaska twice. I got a postcard this week from Arizona—as far west as I have ever been—Dad’s on his way to visit California. Doesn’t know for sure when he’ll be back.
One day, age will betray me. I worry about this. I live far out in the country, and I cherish my home. We don’t have busses or taxies, and I can’t simply walk to the grocery store or the pharmacy. When I can no longer drive, I don’t know what I will do.
When not traveling, my dad and stepmom live much closer to civilization. My dad is in excellent health, but one day, when he can no longer drive, I don’t know what he’ll do.
Writer
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Apathy is a Learned Response
When I was a child, I noticed much more courtesy than people display today. Consider, for example, driving. School buses used to pull over when a few cars trailed behind. With only some exception, not today. “Hey, I’m doing my job. You’ll all just have to wait” is the apparent message. Or, consider farm tractors. My recollection of rural life includes farmers always driving to the side when a car approached. Not now. Some happily oblivious daydreamer plugs along at 10 mph, blocking traffic completely for a few miles on the way to the fields. Construction crews have also changed, replacing concern for the normal flow of commuter traffic with concern only for the construction job--travelers beware. Often several lanes are blocked for weeks although no one actually does any work there.
The change in driving habits is reflected elsewhere. Store clerks look up from their paperwork--or personal phone call--with annoyance aimed at the inconsiderate patron trying to give the business money. Newspaper deliveries often land in the mud, since apparently anywhere on the customer’s ground is close enough. Workers are even annoyed at customers for the workers’ mistakes--one sub shop, informed I had asked for Russian dressing, not mayonnaise, simply added a layer of Russian to the already thick coating of mayonnaise.
Where does this disregard for others originate? It’s taught, albeit unintentionally. “Why doesn’t my teenager respect authority, even mine?” you wonder, while speeding along at 75 mph in defiance of the law. “The government takes too much of my money as it is,” you lament as you fudge the numbers on your tax return to yield a more favorable, if dishonest, outcome. Even promises to the closest people in our lives seem to mean little, since half of U.S. marriages end in divorce. Television, society, the Internet or whatever scapegoat du jour isn’t the problem. No need to leave the comfort of your home.
So when commentators today note that political apathy appears to continually grow, I’m not at all surprised. I remember my parents and teachers speaking of leaders with respect. even though they often disagreed with those leaders. Today’s parents and teachers much more often mention leaders in glaringly disparaging tones. They are quick to attack, but they’re uninterested in the specifics of all those boring political topics like war, poverty, inadequate health care, unemployment and social justice. Sure, they’ll try and cover themselves with proclamations that the candidates for public office are all the same, that the ballot offers a poor selection, but those complaints never seem to spur participation in selection of those candidates. Judging is so much easier.
Today’s citizens aren’t discourteous or apathetic; they’re doing exactly what their elders taught them to do. What society needs instead is for those younger citizens to rebel--to reject their upbringing and do the right thing by taking an active, thoughtful, responsible role in the world. Maybe they can teach their elders a thing or two.
Writer
The change in driving habits is reflected elsewhere. Store clerks look up from their paperwork--or personal phone call--with annoyance aimed at the inconsiderate patron trying to give the business money. Newspaper deliveries often land in the mud, since apparently anywhere on the customer’s ground is close enough. Workers are even annoyed at customers for the workers’ mistakes--one sub shop, informed I had asked for Russian dressing, not mayonnaise, simply added a layer of Russian to the already thick coating of mayonnaise.
Where does this disregard for others originate? It’s taught, albeit unintentionally. “Why doesn’t my teenager respect authority, even mine?” you wonder, while speeding along at 75 mph in defiance of the law. “The government takes too much of my money as it is,” you lament as you fudge the numbers on your tax return to yield a more favorable, if dishonest, outcome. Even promises to the closest people in our lives seem to mean little, since half of U.S. marriages end in divorce. Television, society, the Internet or whatever scapegoat du jour isn’t the problem. No need to leave the comfort of your home.
So when commentators today note that political apathy appears to continually grow, I’m not at all surprised. I remember my parents and teachers speaking of leaders with respect. even though they often disagreed with those leaders. Today’s parents and teachers much more often mention leaders in glaringly disparaging tones. They are quick to attack, but they’re uninterested in the specifics of all those boring political topics like war, poverty, inadequate health care, unemployment and social justice. Sure, they’ll try and cover themselves with proclamations that the candidates for public office are all the same, that the ballot offers a poor selection, but those complaints never seem to spur participation in selection of those candidates. Judging is so much easier.
Today’s citizens aren’t discourteous or apathetic; they’re doing exactly what their elders taught them to do. What society needs instead is for those younger citizens to rebel--to reject their upbringing and do the right thing by taking an active, thoughtful, responsible role in the world. Maybe they can teach their elders a thing or two.
Writer
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