FASTER THAN A SPEEDING TEEN-AGER

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I hope you don’t think I’m getting old, but I have to say – slow down! For the love of all things slow, check your speed, Mario.

Now before you start thinking that I am a pair of dark socks and sandals away from yelling at kids to stay off my lawn, hear me out.

I am now a father, and at some point, my daughter will be driving. (Hopefully, that will occur right around the same time that dogs go extinct.) Anyways, I figure that if I start on a crusade now to slow everyone down, by the time my daughter gets her license, cars will go no faster than a Tyco.

I started noticing the extreme speeds right as summer came into its own, and I started competing during the day with numerous high school students on the roadways. Now, I’m not trying to sound like I have never driven in what could be considered less than a safe manner. For example, when I was 15, I got my license. And anyone who knew me then will, I’m sure, get solidly behind any legislation that not only forbids a 15-year-old from driving, but from even looking at an automobile.

So one day after getting my license, I took my mother’s car out for a spin. In all honesty, I was probably just driving around. I could have saved time just by taking out an ad in the paper that said, “Hey, everyone – I’ve got my license!” Would have been safer, too.

My Mom’s car at the time was a Mercury Grand Marquis, which is roughly comparable in size to Finland. As I was returning home, I had this monstrosity of a car barreling through my neighborhood, traveling at speeds that are unsafe for aircraft, much less 15-year-old morons.

I squealed into the driveway, thoroughly charged at the new power that I had been afforded. This was a kicking new gig I had, and I was positive I could set some awesome new land speed records.

Only a few short minutes later, the doorbell rang. It was a neighbor who had seen the blur of maroon flash by her window. She asked to speak to my mother. I just stared at her, hoping she would just go away. Or perhaps I would combust. No such luck. My mom came to the door, and she and the neighbor had a long talk.

I went upstairs to my room, not so much to think about what I had done, but to think of an alibi. Let’s be real here – I was 15. Nothing was going to be my fault. But my mom wouldn’t have any of it. To be honest with you, I don’t even really remember what punishment I got, but I do recall the phrases “military school” and “quartering” being mentioned, so I’m sure that the point was received.

Since that time, I have slowed dramatically. I have only had one speeding ticket in my life, and I still maintain that the police of Gordo, AL have faulty equipment. It’s not that I putter along at 45 mph on the interstate or anything. But I also don’t have to try and break the sound barrier when I drive. (For one thing, I drive a Honda. The only way I’m breaking the sound barrier is if I’m tied to the back of a fighter jet.)

I am very thankful that my lesson in not speeding came without a very hefty price tag. Others have not been so lucky. I won’t bring you down with details of the ones I am familiar with, because it’s not necessary. We all know someone who found out that speed was not a friend.

But, Mike, you may ask, what’s the point of today’s column? Just to hear about you getting busted by your neighbor? To which I reply, “No sir!” Or “No Ma’am!”, if that’s more appropriate. The point of today’s column is to excite you! It is to enlist you in my new plan that will not only slow down all of the traffic in my neighborhood, but will frustrate and annoy many, many teen-agers around the area! That’s right – you have the opportunity to do to teen-agers what they have done to adults for years!

That’s why I encourage each and every one of you, when you see a whirring streak of what you are pretty sure is an automobile tear down your street, follow that individual home, ring the doorbell, and ask to speak to their parent. Trust me on this – you don’t even NEED to speak to the parents! That’s the beauty of it. A teen’s conscience is his own worst enemy!

In no time, the word will be out, and the teens of this town will be driving at a reduced 80-90 mph through residential zones. I know it sounds like I’m being cranky, but there’s just no need to drive that fast. Trust me, I know. Just take your time. Enjoy the scenery. Take in the beauty of the world around you. But, most importantly, stay off my lawn.

E-mail me at mwg1234@yahoo.com.