On judgement....
Every morning at 7.25 a.m. I used to have to leave the house, with two children dressed, breakfasted, teeth brushed, hair brushed, school bag packed, £1 each for whatever bloody collection was going round, each child with a cardboard box or the special book or special kit or photo of Nana or whatever.
I had to also be dressed, teeth brushed, hair brushed, purse, phone, even tempered, jolly even and bustle them into the back seat and encourage them not to argue, to be kind, to ‘have a nice day’, not to mind about the bully that called my daughter fat or the teacher who insisted that my son learn Latin even though he couldn’t read English. Yes, it was all lovely. Every day. Just lovely.
I dropped the kids off at their school that started at 8 a.m. and then had to drive all the way home in much busier traffic because I hit the commuters driving into town all along the country lanes where you couldn’t overtake and you couldn’t cruise or lose concentration less you find yourself in a ditch or up someone’s backside.
One morning, almost as soon as I hit the long road home I found myself behind a little car, quite old doing 30 miles per hour. This is a 50 mph route and it takes a good twenty minutes to get from one end to the other. I got up close. I was tired and irritable, I was in a hurry. I knew the road like the back of my hand and I knew I could not get past the car so as the minutes ticked by so did my patience. By the time, we reached the outskirts of town it’s fair to say I was fucking furious, yelling and gesticulating although I couldn’t see the driver.
At last! We came to a junction where you could turn left or right and praise be to God, the car indicated to go the other way. Hoorah. I looked over at the driver ready to mouth a few choice words about respect for other road users and why the fuck are you going so slow, dude?
It wasn’t a dude. It was an old woman, maybe 80, maybe older. She had her hair done up in a neat bun. She had red lipstick on. She had a little fur collar on her coat and she could barely see over the steering wheel. She smiled at me and gave a little wave as if to say ‘Good morning, that was a nice drive!’
This woman had got up that morning, probably alone, got herself dressed in some nice clothes and put her face on. She’s still driving and out and about in the world, places to go, people to see. She’s got an appointment somewhere with someone and is fully able to drive and navigate the world, living her best life. And she still has time to smile at a stranger as she goes about her business. Who was she? Who had she been? What had she seen? What had she done? Who was she now? What wisdom did she have? What could she tell me about life, things I would never know?
Shame on me, on wanting to get home a maximum of 4 minutes quicker, on not considering who was driving the car and where they were going and what they had been through or what was going on in their life. And then I remembered a few years previously when I came out of hospital after a serious operation and the first time I got in the car after six months rest. I was slow. I was hesitant. I was worried about braking and pulling a muscle. I was holding people up. I annoyed people, that’s for sure.
The phrase, ‘everyone is fighting a battle you cannot see’ came to mind except this happy, elderly woman was celebrating her life and the battle that should have been fought was me fighting my horrible attitude.
Such a lesson. I waved back and
I’ve never forgotten her.
Go well.
Kit