Driving in D.C.

I spent last weekend in Washington, D.C. with my wife and our five children.  We were there as part of a larger family gathering to celebrate my father in law’s 60^th birthday.  The celebration was very well planned (none of it by me!) and involved not only a nice dinner and cake but also visits to the National Mall and various Smithsonian museums.  You may ask what museums can hold the attention of five children with ages ranging from two months to nine years.  The answer is that the two-month-old doesn’t count, and you can keep the rest interested for quite a long time where there are a sufficient number of such things as rockets, space capsules, dinosaurs, and pickled giant squids.  The important thing is to move quickly from one exhibit to the next, and explain them each one in a brief and accessible way.  It’s rather exhausting for the parents, but it’s good mental exercise.

But all this, though more significant in the broad scheme of things, is only context for the real topic of this post: driving in D. C.  I did most of it, because I am slightly less stressed by dangerous driving situations, and because my wife is a much better navigator than I am.  I drove so aggressively that I was disturbed by my own conduct.  I didn’t understand why I was driving like this until my wife took over for a little while – and was forced off a highway exit she didn’t want to take by someone who accelerated to remain in her blind spot (I don’t think they were purposely malicious – just unobservant and unhelpful on a crowded road).  Anyway, I realized I was driving aggressively because other ways of driving didn’t work.

Still, I am painfully aware how thin the line is between aggressive and stupid.  I am alert and observant behind the wheel, and have excellent intuitive judgment of velocities and tolerances.  My quick, almost subconscious decisions are rarely at fault.  Nevertheless I intensely dislike suddenly realizing that I have staked thousands of dollars on a split-second decision whose rational basis I cannot articulate.  The fact that the decision was good does not comfort me – how do I know the next one will be?

The reader may be wondering why I have talked about staking money rather than the incomparably more serious risk of human lives.  The answer is that I drive with tight tolerances only when the stakes do not involve a high-momentum crash.  I risk totaling my car, not my children.  Nonetheless it is a car the children need, that I cannot afford to replace, and there could be some injuries even in a lower-velocity accident.

The most disturbing moment came when I pulled in front of a black pickup to make a left turn into a gas station on the way home. That was the only time I was honked at. I was making my intentions clear, but the driver of the pickup was not slowing down to let me in.  I saw that I had enough space, and I gunned the engine and took it.  It was only afterwards that I tried to estimate how close our rear bumper had come to the pickup’s front bumper and couldn’t do it.  Surely it was feet rather than inches… wasn’t it?  Why didn’t I let the left turn go, make a U-turn later, and come back?  The answer is that I was sure – intuitively, not rationally – that what I was doing would work.  I am not happy with answers like that.

There are other questions, though.  We needed the gas.  U-turns are dangerous too.  What would have happened if I had given up on turning there?

I have to recognize the uncomfortable reality that I cannot guarantee my family’s safety, even when I am literally at the wheel and it seems that I am most completely in control of it.  Much less can I guard effectively against other things: falling trees, malicious strangers, cancer, and the children’s own foolish decisions.  I have the responsibility to do what I can: to think carefully about how I drive, prune trees, and teach good decision-making.  Still the Proverb remains true: “Unless the Lord guard a city, the watchmen stay awake in vain.”  God promises care to his people, and I trust him.  The fact that he does not promise protection against any particular catastrophe troubles me.  But he promises his presence and care in both peace and disaster, and that must be enough.  We reached the end of the journey safely.  Why?  Because I am a good driver?  No. Because he is a good God.