A few years ago when we were living in Mesquite, Texas, I went to north Dallas for something.  I came back on the loop, I635, a big freeway if you’ve never been there.  It was rush hour and the exit was backed up.  I was in the middle of a row waiting to get off the freeway. One of the things I really do not like is for some person to take a shoulder or a grassy lane or something and hog their way around the line to ahead of everyone else.  I had a habit of cutting the assholes off, if I could.  I thought it was amusing to see them get angry and stuff. 

On this particular day I saw a guy in an old four-wheel-drive truck making his way along beside the long line of cars and approach on the right, down the shoulder.  I eased over to block him.  He honked, and screamed, and I could see he was not happy.  Suddenly he turned and drove up onto a steep embankment to the right of the highway.  It was a dangerous, stupid thing to do, but he could do it with that truck. 

He started around me.  As he passed our eyes met.  I planned to give him my old, “Hey, smart-ass” grin.  But his face was the look of total hatred and anger.  His face was red, his eyes bulging, he was really pissed!  Suddenly my action was not so funny.  I was stricken by the fact that I, alone, had made this man angry enough to kill, all over a stupid attempt to keep a guy in his place.

For days I could not get that man’s face out of my head.  I was ashamed and disgusted with myself, and appalled at myself for what I had done.  I wished–and still do–that I could apologize to him.  Sure, he was being rude.  But he was just a guy, in a hurry to get home, living in a city where patience is almost nonexistent.  He was not hurting anyone, really, by what he was doing.  But me and my smart-ass attitude had caused this man a tremendous amount of pain. 

I have a temper myself and I know that if you peel away the hostility you will find pain, lots of pain.  Any doctor can tell you about the physically harmful effect of anger.  And any shrink can tell you about the mental consequences.  And ask any battered wife about other consequences.  If blocking some poor fella from sneaking past me on the shoulder is going to cause them this much distress then I had no right to stop them. 

If I claim to have faith, to love people, where do I get off treating people this way?  It was a hard lesson.  Stopping rude and selfish drivers on the highway is not a hill worth dying on.  So, now, I let it go.  I just get out of the way of anyone who has to get there before I do.  Go on, ma’am.  Get on by, buddy.  I can wait.  I’d rather you get hCome or to work or whatever in a peaceful state of mind than to wreck your day and maybe your vehicle for the tiny satisfaction that I “stopped a bully.”

I’ll probably never forget that guy on the freeway that day.  It turns my stomach now to think on how awful I was.  But it is always there to remind me that caring about people is to sometimes let them do stupid things, as long as it doesn’t get them or someone else killed.

That little epiphany has led me to the conclusion that it is never, ever OK to push someone to anger.  Well, the Bible tells us not to, too, but when did we ever let a little thing like that get in our way?  I had to see it and feel it.  I had to have an angry man’s face fried into my consciousness.  Now I am sad and ashamed at myself.  Making someone angry is not funny.  Not any more.

Copyright 1999