Chances are, whether you’ve known me for three decades or just a few months in the real world (you know, outside of essays and social media), you’ve probably never seen me truly angry. You might have witnessed me cry—thanks to the whole young widow situation—but rage? Not so much. Most people haven’t seen that side of me.
Anger is something I usually keep bottled up. I’m soft-spoken and composed, good at rolling with the punches. In fact, I can count on one hand the instances where I’ve lost my temper in public over the last ten years. One time, at 3 a.m. in the emergency room, I yelled at a young doctor for something beyond his control. (I still feel awful about that, but I had just learned that my husband’s brain cancer had spread into his cerebral spinal fluid, and my son had called in tears asking if I’d make it home for his birthday.) Another time, I lost it with a contractor who double charged me shortly after my husband’s funeral. (I don’t regret that one, but again, I was in a place of grief and barely remember the furious words I shouted.)
But when it comes to the morning school drop-off line…I transform into a rage monster. Picture me ranting and raving, throwing my hands up in frustration, and rolling my eyes while narrating every slow-moving car’s actions with snarky impatience.
I’m not proud of this side of me, and thankfully, I have the good sense to keep my windows rolled up.
I have no excuse for my behavior. I’m just infuriated by parents who blatantly ignore the rules about staying in their cars. The rules are simple: drive up to the curb, stay in your vehicle, and let your child exit. For the little ones, teachers are there to help open doors and manage heavy backpacks. The guidelines clearly state that parents shouldn’t exit the car and that if extra help is needed, they should park and walk their kids to the entrance.
Drop-off lines are meant to flow smoothly—a drop and go system. Any disruption to that flow? Cue my rage.
My mornings are meticulously planned. I need to drop off my elementary schooler, then my middle schooler, and finally head to work. Every second beyond the typical thirty seconds it should take to drop off my kids is a second I desperately need.
Sure, I could leave a bit earlier to give myself some leeway. I’ve tried that, yet those rule-breakers always seem to show up, no matter how early I arrive. Plus, leaving earlier means waking my almost-teen son and middle school daughter, who definitely don’t appreciate being dragged out of bed before their bodies are ready. Why should they lose precious sleep just because some parents can’t follow the established rules?
I need to take a moment to breathe; I can already feel that rage monster emerging again. The reality is, I don’t want to start my mornings off in anger. My kids think it’s hilarious when their usually calm mom morphs into a furious creature over a slow-moving car line, but I’d prefer to set a better example. I want to teach them grace and patience rather than whatever it is I’m demonstrating, which is likely the opposite of those qualities. But hey, we’re all human, and perhaps there’s a lesson to be learned here.
Something like, “if you don’t follow the rules, even the most patient people might give you a hard glare.” Just kidding…sort of.
I completely understand that some children do require extra assistance getting out of the car, and that parents in those situations often have packed schedules just like mine. I sympathize with kindergarten parents sending their kids off to school for the first time during a pandemic. The rational part of me gets that we’re all trying our best. Yet, I can’t help but feel annoyed, rolling my eyes and grumbling about it.
So, fine, I’ll allow you to take your time, but let me have my rage. I promise I won’t let it spill over beyond the car line.
But really—let’s keep it moving.
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