Sitting at a light in my 2003 Chevy Malibu (bought used in 2007 and now dinged up by encounters with an 18-wheeler and a bike-riding 10 year old) with a faded Obama/Biden sticker on the bumper and windows rolled down to enjoy the rare September cool...
From the car next to me I hear, "F**K OBAMA!!" and turn my head just in time to see the darkened window roll up.
That same 10 year old (who a few weeks ago unwittingly carved a neat straight line into my outer door with his bike handle) glances over from the passenger seat to see nothing more than I did, and he sits back again, content to continue jamming to the CD of music that his mother, father, and friends will be singing in church in about a week.
"Everything is holy now," sings Peter Mayer.
Since both lights are still red, we remain -- the hater to my left, the groovy pre-teen to my right, and me, the gray-haired buddhist-UU-Christian hippie queer in the middle.
The three of us sat there, suspended in whatever each of us wanted to hover within, for a good three minutes more.
I tweeted the encounter, my most recent obsession.
It's not as creepy, this car-to-car spewing of hate, as the time I was similarly accosted in the grocery store parking lot. True or not, having a bulk of metal surrounding me adds to a sense of safety.
I wished the Hater peace, in my head and via Twitter.
If it's not for who I visibly support in politics, there are plenty of other things for which I am likely to be hated. Everywhere.
If the Hater's like me and most other humans, the soundwaves of what he yelled out his car window continued to bounce around inside his skull for another minute or so, maybe longer. That's enough karma for me.
From the car next to me I hear, "F**K OBAMA!!" and turn my head just in time to see the darkened window roll up.
That same 10 year old (who a few weeks ago unwittingly carved a neat straight line into my outer door with his bike handle) glances over from the passenger seat to see nothing more than I did, and he sits back again, content to continue jamming to the CD of music that his mother, father, and friends will be singing in church in about a week.
"Everything is holy now," sings Peter Mayer.
Since both lights are still red, we remain -- the hater to my left, the groovy pre-teen to my right, and me, the gray-haired buddhist-UU-Christian hippie queer in the middle.
The three of us sat there, suspended in whatever each of us wanted to hover within, for a good three minutes more.
I tweeted the encounter, my most recent obsession.
It's not as creepy, this car-to-car spewing of hate, as the time I was similarly accosted in the grocery store parking lot. True or not, having a bulk of metal surrounding me adds to a sense of safety.
I wished the Hater peace, in my head and via Twitter.
If it's not for who I visibly support in politics, there are plenty of other things for which I am likely to be hated. Everywhere.
If the Hater's like me and most other humans, the soundwaves of what he yelled out his car window continued to bounce around inside his skull for another minute or so, maybe longer. That's enough karma for me.
