Ink Spots Blog: 8/9/13 — Carpool

I loved taking my oldest sons to school. I used to take them every morning. It was pure joy to see their little faces grow up in my rear view mirror —  it was five minutes of quality Dad/Son time.  Along the way, I became a connoisseur of the crushing chaos of carpool.  There’s nothing quite like that community bonding experience of trying to cram 400 cars through a single lane while dropping off small children all within a 15-minute window.  A hot dog eating contest is more relaxed. Atlanta rush hour is less insane.  I’m convinced the F-word (not Fudge) was invented in carpool by a mom in a Tahoe who was cut off by another mom  who was texting while driving her Black Suburban.  It’s just a hunch.

I remember the car-pool process well.  I’d turn left onto the road were my sons’ schools were. Then I’d come up to the crossing guard who looked like Santa (I always thought it would be fun to have a guy dressed up like the Devil. If you’re entering Carpool Hell, why not?).  Then I’d enter the loop of doom — the road that took me past both schools so I could drop my precious cargo off.  Reentering from space was less stressful.  And less heated.

There would be cars cutting and dodging.  Delicate ears would be tarnished by words that would make salty Marines blush. When I finally got to a school, a nice teacher or teacher’s aide would open the door and I’d eject a son and his 500 lb. backpack (I think my son carries Jimmy Hoffa to school every day) out the door. I’m sure in a perfect carpool world, I wouldn’t have stopped. But my son can’t quite run 20 mph — so I did use the brakes.  It’s a father’s love.

My carpool days are past me now.  My wife, who teaches at my youngest son’s school, takes the two younger boys to their respective places of learning.  My oldest son rides big yellow and will be driving  soon (my car insurance just went up from me merely writing that.)  I am now officially retired.

I miss seeing their faces in my mirror. I miss the daily adrenaline rush of battling the mom-driven SUVs. I miss a part of my life I’ll never get back.

Time allows you to forget most pain. Even the pain of carpool.