The sticker on the back of my van reads SLO. I realize that this looks like some sort of caution to nearby vehicles, especially to those who do not wish to have their velocity in any way impeded by a distracted mom in a mini-van. In reality, the letters stand for Slovenia, the European home of my brother and sister-in-law. But not many people know that.
I am convinced that I make irritable drivers even more cranky by brazenly advertising the fact that my pace might in some way be delayed. If I say I'm slo, I must be slow. So the inconsiderate motorists ride my bumper. This phenomenon baffles me. I'm actually not a slow driver. I do try to hover fairly close to the speed limit, but my propensity for tardiness generally results in a wee bit of acceleration. I'm anything but slow.
So when I'm caught with a rude driver behind me, I often wonder what they're thinking. What if I needed to be driving slowly right now? Have they thought of that? What if I'm transporting a three-tiered cake? Or an art project? Or . . . a goldfish? Have they considered the possibilities?
Now, yesterday afternoon I actually was a slow driver. But it was on purpose. My little Aidan had a head injury, resulting in a very minor concussion. On the way to the doctor's office, he meekly asked if I might take it easy on the speed bumps. What mother is going to deny her aching child that request? We took those speed bumps nice and easy. The truck driver behind me was not pleased. I really wanted to stop the van, get out and march up to the guy and very calmly reason with him, "Look, Mister-in-the-Big-Fancy-Truck. Take it easy there. My boy is concussed!"
I refrained. Instead, I chose to humbly inch my way over those dreadful speed bumps. But the experience has definitely given me some perspective. The next time I'm behind a slow driver, I'm going to cut them some slack. That old lady in front of me just might be transporting a goldfish to her grandson.
Or grapes!
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