I was zipping down Interstate 95 in the not-too-distant past when I noticed a sweet,shiny red Tesla in the right lane. It still had temporary tags, so it must have been brand new. “Nice wheels,” I thought as I went by. “Me and my Honda Pilot are gonna leave you IN THE DUST!! HA!!” (Side note: I am NOT an aggressive driver, but let’s just say I drive slightly faster than my mother; who, it must be noted, has never been involved in an accident that was her fault.) Not far ahead of the Tesla was a modest-looking sedan with one of those white oval stickers on the back. I have a few of those: “13.1” and “26.2”. This one said “WWII.” I stole a glance at the driver as I passed. Sure enough, it was an elderly gentleman driving. Immediately tears sprung to my eyes.
God does that to me every so often. I drive around with my race stickers (boy does my husband hate them, but he holds his tongue and I love him for it) and I think I’m such a badass. Then I’ll notice a bumper sticker or a car magnet that announces that person’s military service. You’ve seen them. “IRQ,” “AFGH,” “VIETNAM VET.” The one that really gives me a punch to my gut are the license plates that identify the driver as a purple heart recipient. Seeing all those things put me in my place real fast.
“You win,” I thought, as I gave him one last glance in my rearview mirror. “You win.”
Many thanks to all who serve our country.