| Humor Non-Fiction posted March 17, 2009 | Chapters: |
...22 23 -24- 25... 
|
  |
The day I totally lost it while driving.
A chapter in the book Chasing the Elusive Dream
Everyone Has a Breaking Point
by BethShelby
Each time I mentioned I had an easy going nature and seldom lost my temper, my husband reminded me of the time I totaled the car in our own front yard. That incident points out a rare exception to my, otherwise placid, temperament. But then, if it hadn't been for him, the whole thing wouldn't have happened in the first place. I never understand why he insisted on presenting himself as the innocent victim of a woman who had "totally lost it".
I'm a person, who if left to her own devices, would never be a minute late for anything. I find nothing quite as annoying as having to wait on someone who is perpetually late. My husband was such a person. Evan was extremely meticulous about everything he did. Time wasn't a priority, until he realizeed he might have to endure the icy stare of his supervisor if he walked in late again.
Personally, I've never spent much time on my own appearance. Even with the responsibility of making sure our three children were ready for school and getting myself dressed, it consumed far less time than it took for my husband to be ready to leave the house.
When we moved away from the city, our economic situation made it prudent the five of us drive into Jackson together each day. We knew we'd save money by taking only one car. Since I was due at work first, the plan was for my husband to drop me at my job, take the children to school and then, drive himself to work.
This worked well if everyone cooperated and got themselves ready to leave at the prescribed time. However, a smooth departure was seldom the case. It wasn't the only problem I had to deal with. I'd recently changed jobs which required me to punch in on a timeclock. There was no way to slip by the boss without leaving evidence of a tardy arrival. It didn't matter that I'd work later and make up the time. With him, getting off to an early start was everything.
Also in those days before women's lib, females were lucky to get paid even a third as much as men. This attitude, coupled with the fact that most Southern men possessed the inborn notion working women did it as a hobby rather than a serious source of income. Our husbands would swear, on a stack of Bibles, it actually cost them money to have us working. They didn't want us to quit, but they insisted, our salary put the family in a higher tax bracket. I'd not seen it proven on paper, but it was the prevailing attitude. My husband, while not the originator of this dubious notion, was, nevertheless, swayed by it.
If a child had a problem calling for the presence of a parent, the parent was always the mother. If someone had to take off from work to take care of family business, regardless of which members' business it was, the wife was the one who needed to ask off. If anyone had to go into work late and face the withering looks of the boss, let it be the one who worked for the fun of it and not the real breadwinner.
Each day, I would sit in the car with our children, fuming, and tapping the horn at periodic intervals, waiting for my husband to finish tying his tie, or whatever it was he was doing. Now understand, I would have left much earlier if we'd been driving in separate cars. Invariably, it was only after there was no chance I could get to work at a reasonable hour, when Evan would come to the realization, he would be the one late if he didn't go straight to his own work. This meant, he would need to take the other vehicle, and it would be up to me to get the kids to school before going on to my job.
Even on this particular ill-fated day, I think I might have held my fracturing emotions together, if it had been the first time, rather than the third time, that week such a decision was made.
That day, perhaps, he caught me in the middle of a hormone crisis. At any rate, something snapped. Our house was at the end of long curved tree-lined driveway. I was unskilled in the art of floor-boarding it, while going backwards on a curved drive. Still, I might have made it escept for that one last tree. It wasn't even one of our bigger trees, which is probably the reason I flattened it.
Our roomy luggare compartment ceased to exist. But miraculously, there were no casualties other than the car and my son Don's Evel Knievel lunch box. To this day, that lunch box has never been seen again. That was no big loss, because after that day, Don didn't seem interested in dare devils anymore.
We were down to one vehicle. It was just as well, because no one wanted to allow me behind the wheel anyway. There was one consolation, if my memory serves me correctly. After that day and for as long as we lived there, I can't remember being late for work again.
Each time I mentioned I had an easy going nature and seldom lost my temper, my husband reminded me of the time I totaled the car in our own front yard. That incident points out a rare exception to my, otherwise placid, temperament. But then, if it hadn't been for him, the whole thing wouldn't have happened in the first place. I never understand why he insisted on presenting himself as the innocent victim of a woman who had "totally lost it".
I'm a person, who if left to her own devices, would never be a minute late for anything. I find nothing quite as annoying as having to wait on someone who is perpetually late. My husband was such a person. Evan was extremely meticulous about everything he did. Time wasn't a priority, until he realizeed he might have to endure the icy stare of his supervisor if he walked in late again.
Personally, I've never spent much time on my own appearance. Even with the responsibility of making sure our three children were ready for school and getting myself dressed, it consumed far less time than it took for my husband to be ready to leave the house.
When we moved away from the city, our economic situation made it prudent the five of us drive into Jackson together each day. We knew we'd save money by taking only one car. Since I was due at work first, the plan was for my husband to drop me at my job, take the children to school and then, drive himself to work.
I'm a person, who if left to her own devices, would never be a minute late for anything. I find nothing quite as annoying as having to wait on someone who is perpetually late. My husband was such a person. Evan was extremely meticulous about everything he did. Time wasn't a priority, until he realizeed he might have to endure the icy stare of his supervisor if he walked in late again.
Personally, I've never spent much time on my own appearance. Even with the responsibility of making sure our three children were ready for school and getting myself dressed, it consumed far less time than it took for my husband to be ready to leave the house.
When we moved away from the city, our economic situation made it prudent the five of us drive into Jackson together each day. We knew we'd save money by taking only one car. Since I was due at work first, the plan was for my husband to drop me at my job, take the children to school and then, drive himself to work.
This worked well if everyone cooperated and got themselves ready to leave at the prescribed time. However, a smooth departure was seldom the case. It wasn't the only problem I had to deal with. I'd recently changed jobs which required me to punch in on a timeclock. There was no way to slip by the boss without leaving evidence of a tardy arrival. It didn't matter that I'd work later and make up the time. With him, getting off to an early start was everything.
Also in those days before women's lib, females were lucky to get paid even a third as much as men. This attitude, coupled with the fact that most Southern men possessed the inborn notion working women did it as a hobby rather than a serious source of income. Our husbands would swear, on a stack of Bibles, it actually cost them money to have us working. They didn't want us to quit, but they insisted, our salary put the family in a higher tax bracket. I'd not seen it proven on paper, but it was the prevailing attitude. My husband, while not the originator of this dubious notion, was, nevertheless, swayed by it.
If a child had a problem calling for the presence of a parent, the parent was always the mother. If someone had to take off from work to take care of family business, regardless of which members' business it was, the wife was the one who needed to ask off. If anyone had to go into work late and face the withering looks of the boss, let it be the one who worked for the fun of it and not the real breadwinner.
Each day, I would sit in the car with our children, fuming, and tapping the horn at periodic intervals, waiting for my husband to finish tying his tie, or whatever it was he was doing. Now understand, I would have left much earlier if we'd been driving in separate cars. Invariably, it was only after there was no chance I could get to work at a reasonable hour, when Evan would come to the realization, he would be the one late if he didn't go straight to his own work. This meant, he would need to take the other vehicle, and it would be up to me to get the kids to school before going on to my job.
Also in those days before women's lib, females were lucky to get paid even a third as much as men. This attitude, coupled with the fact that most Southern men possessed the inborn notion working women did it as a hobby rather than a serious source of income. Our husbands would swear, on a stack of Bibles, it actually cost them money to have us working. They didn't want us to quit, but they insisted, our salary put the family in a higher tax bracket. I'd not seen it proven on paper, but it was the prevailing attitude. My husband, while not the originator of this dubious notion, was, nevertheless, swayed by it.
If a child had a problem calling for the presence of a parent, the parent was always the mother. If someone had to take off from work to take care of family business, regardless of which members' business it was, the wife was the one who needed to ask off. If anyone had to go into work late and face the withering looks of the boss, let it be the one who worked for the fun of it and not the real breadwinner.
Each day, I would sit in the car with our children, fuming, and tapping the horn at periodic intervals, waiting for my husband to finish tying his tie, or whatever it was he was doing. Now understand, I would have left much earlier if we'd been driving in separate cars. Invariably, it was only after there was no chance I could get to work at a reasonable hour, when Evan would come to the realization, he would be the one late if he didn't go straight to his own work. This meant, he would need to take the other vehicle, and it would be up to me to get the kids to school before going on to my job.
Even on this particular ill-fated day, I think I might have held my fracturing emotions together, if it had been the first time, rather than the third time, that week such a decision was made.
That day, perhaps, he caught me in the middle of a hormone crisis. At any rate, something snapped. Our house was at the end of long curved tree-lined driveway. I was unskilled in the art of floor-boarding it, while going backwards on a curved drive. Still, I might have made it escept for that one last tree. It wasn't even one of our bigger trees, which is probably the reason I flattened it.
Our roomy luggare compartment ceased to exist. But miraculously, there were no casualties other than the car and my son Don's Evel Knievel lunch box. To this day, that lunch box has never been seen again. That was no big loss, because after that day, Don didn't seem interested in dare devils anymore.
We were down to one vehicle. It was just as well, because no one wanted to allow me behind the wheel anyway. There was one consolation, if my memory serves me correctly. After that day and for as long as we lived there, I can't remember being late for work again.
That day, perhaps, he caught me in the middle of a hormone crisis. At any rate, something snapped. Our house was at the end of long curved tree-lined driveway. I was unskilled in the art of floor-boarding it, while going backwards on a curved drive. Still, I might have made it escept for that one last tree. It wasn't even one of our bigger trees, which is probably the reason I flattened it.
Our roomy luggare compartment ceased to exist. But miraculously, there were no casualties other than the car and my son Don's Evel Knievel lunch box. To this day, that lunch box has never been seen again. That was no big loss, because after that day, Don didn't seem interested in dare devils anymore.
We were down to one vehicle. It was just as well, because no one wanted to allow me behind the wheel anyway. There was one consolation, if my memory serves me correctly. After that day and for as long as we lived there, I can't remember being late for work again.
 Recognized |
|
This seems to fit at this point in my book so I'm reactivating. This was about 1971.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. 
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2024. BethShelby All rights reserved. Registered copyright with FanStory.
BethShelby has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
