Suicide Run

You’ve heard stories about “Soccer Moms” who drive tribes of kids around on Saturday mornings, manic to get to assorted matches all over town, hyped up on latte’s, driving like they are racing in NASCAR but turning right and then left, haven’t you?

Years ago, the mini-van trumped the Monster SUV in form and function. Sliding doors, easy hatch access, front wheel drive, a perfect addition to any burgeoning family. Soccer was in it’s earlier phase, little kids on the field, everyone played, no scoring!, happy, healthy family fun.

We traded in our little SUV for our van. A 1994 Dodge Caravan. Blue, Sport edition. We had two kids now and needed the room. Besides, it was so much more convenient driving our eldest son, who is autistic, around to his doctor, speech, occupational and physical therapy appointments.

With such precious cargo on board, it was important to watch all ways when crossing the street, keep under the speed limit and take care to ensure everyone a safe trip.

As the kids grew, so did the amount of french fries and hamburger wrappers that hid under the seats, in the cup holders, and in the back of the hatch. A big purple stain resulting from a Costco smoothie incident covered the passenger seating area. And, when alone, without the kids, we didn’t drive with as competently as in the past. It seemed our van was going through a de-evolution when the paint peeled off after having it detailed. Our friend, Troy, was quick to point out that it WAS painted with a crayon – so why act surprised! (Love ya, Troy!)

The morning I arrived at work with a negligent driving ticket in my hand, having driven the van, I knew I needed to get it together and back to being citizen normal. You see, I had this 20 minute window to myself. 10:30 a.m., Saturday morning, all freeway, no kids, Pearl Jam at the top of the sound dial, latte, possibly a smoke – then came the sirens. Negligent driving? Who, me? The officer, he was certain it was me, I was clocked at 98 miles an hour, tailgating for a continual 2 mile stretch on the local freeway. I was speechless.

Autism Moms. We do it right. Driving like that kind of lunatic, not going home, but on the way to work, in a van, with no paint. A little, tiny bit of freedom! It was like riding a horse on the beach for others – seriously, a quiet stretch of road was calling my name.

It felt good to be a rebel for a few minutes. I was liberated. I broke the law. Thelma & Louise wrapped into one right here! Eat this Soccer Mom!

I went to court, plead guilty to being stupid, and gained the confidence to trade in the van and buy a car to behave in the manner I was arrested for! Go big or go home! ~ Wendy Frye

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