We were going to the 4th of
July fireworks for the island. Everyone on the island was also going
there. I know because the only four-lane road was backed up for a
whole five minutes. (This might not sound bad, but when two kids and
two adults (none of whom can carry a tune when it's dark) decide to
pass the time singing the Twelve Days of Christmas, any back up is
interminable.)
The fireworks were at the Frederiksted
Pier at 8 pm. We decided to leave our place on the other side of the
island at 7. (This doesn't mean we actually left. This means I had
the kids in the car and my wife and her parents were beginning the
process of getting ready to go. The kids and I had time for a nap
and a game of monopoly while we waited in the car.)
While
we waited, the kids and I bonded as a family.
“The
fireworks are tonight?” my daughter asked.
“Yes,”
I answered
“Do
they start when it's dark?” my son asked
“Yes,”
I answered
“We
can come back and see them next year, can't we?” my daughter asked
“We'll
get there in time. Dad drives fast,” my son answered.
“But
grandpa and grandma will scream like mommy if he does,” my daughter
pointed out. (In all fairness, there had only been one episode of
screaming so far. It was the first day and we were going to cane
bay. I knew everyone drove on the left side of the road. It's just
that at a 5-way intersection, it can be difficult to figure out which
left lane is the right left lane. I would have been all right if the
scream hadn't distracted me. I ended up making a perfect five point
turn and was impressed with the handling of the rental car. I'm
pretty sure the ten or so drivers I cut off were also impressed.)
“No
one's going to scream,” I was still a bit sensitive.
“Can
I ride in the front? I get car sick now.”
“No,”
I told my son. “Grandpa is going to ride in the front.”
“Why
does he get to ride in the front?”
“Really
old people get to ride in the front,” I answered.
That
got them to talking about who was the oldest until were heard the
grandparents coming down the steps. Ten minutes later, we were off
across the island. One Christmas carol and a wrong turn later, were
were almost there.
One
of the nice things of driving in St. Croix, aside from the quick
reflexes of the of the drivers, is they are very polite drivers.
Often times, they will stop in the middle of a busy highway and let
people turning right in. (For normal (Yes, I know this is not
geographically correct.) driving, that'd be the same as stopping on
the interstate to let someone from the left turn and merge into
traffic.) As we came to the intersection, a polite driver was doing
just that.
The
screams from the backseat were my first clue that something was
amiss. First of all, they were all in tune. Then I saw the car
coming at us from the blind spot on my right. (My father-in-law,
while old, is not yet transparent.) I slammed on my brakes and the
other car slammed on his. There was a brief moment of residual
screaming. Once everyone was stopped, I again showed how responsive
the rental car was took off (this time minus the perfect 5-point
turn.).
“Daddy,
you scared the life out of me!” My daughter gasped from the back
seat. “Don't ever do that again!”
“I
wanted to make sure everyone was awake for the fireworks,” I
explained.
Sure
enough it, worked. For the rest of the trip there, every time a car
was spotted on the road, everyone gasped in fear. They were awake,
alert and paranoid. And too scared to sing. Mission accomplished.
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