When my daughter was an infant and toddler, I would often end up driving her around with me on errands, to her daycare, friends’ homes, etc. We lived in Northern Virginia (around Washington, DC), which has horrendous traffic. I often got frustrated when I got stuck in stupid back-ups. I wouldn’t swear but would mutter, “Geez”, “Go!”, or my favorite, “Any particular shade of green you’re waiting for?” when I got behind someone who didn’t respond quickly enough to a green light.

One day, I was behind several cars at a stop sign; the road we were on led onto a busy local highway. It was taking ten to thirty seconds per car to proceed since the highway was busy. I wasn’t particularly frustrated, knowing the situation. After about five stop-and-gos without getting to the stop sign, from the back seat, my daughter gave out a whiny, “Go!” just like I did when I was frustrated with traffic.

From that point on, I made an effort to keep my mutterings to myself.

Related:
Careful The Things You Say; Children Will Listen

My uncle is extremely distractible and unobservant. I could tell a ton of stories about him either not noticing or immediately forgetting something obvious, but this is one of the most egregious examples.

I’m sitting at my computer when my uncle walks up behind me.

Uncle: “Hey, [My Name], how’s [Website we’re working on together] going? Can you show me what you’ve gotten done?”

Me: “Sure, let me bring it up.” 

I turn back to the computer for literally five seconds, just long enough to open my web browser.

Me: “So, I got the login… system…”

I turn back around while speaking, only to see an empty room.

Me: “…[Uncle]?”

I found him vacuuming a nearby room. Somehow in the — again, LITERALLY — five seconds I was facing away and not talking to him, he’d forgotten that he’d asked me a question and wandered off. I’d be worried that he had dementia or a brain tumor or something, except Mom swears he’s always been like this.

My neighbour’s gorgeous cat Mittens comes and goes as she pleases, but they never got around to installing a cat flap, so her means of entry and exit are whichever window in the house happens to be open. Upstairs or downstairs, she will find a way. 

Our house backs up to theirs, so I always see Mittens going about her business, usually using our joining fence to tightrope her way to the roof of their shed, take a quick spring onto their kitchen extension, and climb in through the bathroom window. 

What this lovely girl hates is dogs, though, and for years we had a Jack Russell terrier for whom the feeling was mutual, so Mittens kept well clear of our yard except to delight in the frustrated barks of the dog when Mittens went about her usual parkouring along our fence. Then, sadly, our terrier passed due to old age, and Mittens eventually realised that our yard was now dog-free. She took to sunning on our shed roof and occasionally stopping down into our yard and popping in through my open kitchen window for head scritches and to say hi before going on her merry way. 

After a good few months of mourning, my hubby and I decided we were ready for a new dog. My daughter’s boyfriend’s dog had puppies, and we decided to take two of them. We got our new boys at nine weeks old, and they settled in well with our family.

Then, one bright sunny morning as I came in the door from work, I was greeted by the almighty angry screeches of a cat wailing coming from the backyard. I ran out to the sight of two little bundles of fur with wildly wagging tails giving a shocked-looking Mittens a good sniff all over while she pressed herself into the corner of the fence and loudly complained. Poor girl must have gotten a shock when she plopped down into our yard to come to greet me at the kitchen window when she heard my car. It seems we forgot to tell her about the new puppies! 

Anyway, she was perfectly fine, and the pups had seemed to make an impression on her; eventually, they all made friends, and Mittens can often be found sunning herself in our yard, cuddled up with two sleeping border collie brothers who adore her. It is a sight that often lifts my heart after a long day at work. And she still comes happily to my window for hello head scritches.

Back when my dad drove me to school and other places, I sat in the passenger seat. When I was really young, I didn’t have much of a concept of how dangerous roads can be, but as I got older, I got more anxiety about crashing and hitting stuff without the life experience of how to deal with that.

One day, a squirrel ran past the front of the car. I shouted, “No!” and (stupidly) reached my arm toward the steering wheel. I think I was planning to pull it left, which would have resulted in us hitting a wall. But my dad blocked my arm and then shouted at me.

Dad: “That would have been so dangerous if you had managed to pull the wheel! And shouting like that distracts me when I’m driving! It would’ve been better for me to hit the squirrel than for us to crash!”

Further down the same road, these next things all happened in very quick succession. A second squirrel decided to cross the road in front of our car. I gasped, swallowed my shout, and dug my nails into my knees. The squirrel got to the second half of the road. My dad swerved into the right-hand lane, aiming for the squirrel!

Me: “Dad! No!”

My dad returned to the left-hand lane.

Guess who got lectured because they should’ve known their dad was only teasing and wouldn’t actually hit the squirrel, and they’d just been told not to shout at the driver, and why couldn’t they follow simple instructions?

I tried closing my eyes whenever been driven anywhere so that I wouldn’t see anything that would cause me to panic, but I’d get tickled to “wake me up” despite me repeatedly saying I wasn’t sleeping. Also, the driver deciding to tickle me which caused me to reflexively squirm and hit him was definitely my fault (sarcasm) and yet another reason for him to lecture me about how I was not a good passenger.

And now my dad wonders why I’m too scared to learn how to drive.

It’s the 1990s. My father calls me one night.

Father: “You have to come right now!”

He is a bit agitated and doesn’t even say hi or hello.

Me: “What’s the problem?”

Father: “I can’t set the date and time on my new VCR!”

Me: “Did you follow the manual?”

Father: “Yes! Of course! I have tried several times and it does not work.”

Me: “Are you sure you followed the manual?”

Father: “Yes! Come. Here. Now!”

I go over to my parents’ house, grab the remote and the manual, follow the instructions, and…

“Beep!” 

The date and time are set.

Father: “What did you do?!”

Me: “Just what the manual told me.”

Father: “You must have done something else! I tried several times. It didn’t work!”

Me: “No, I just followed the instructions.”

Father: “You must have done something else!”

Me: “Well… I turned the VCR on first…”

But the instructions didn’t say that you had to start the VCR first; I have to give him that.