My Way or the Low Way

When I was little – I don’t know, like 4 or 5 – I must, although reluctantly, admit I was known to be at times (and I am paraphrasing here for the sake of my family) an “untamable tantrum-prone monster in the car,” almost exclusively when I suspected that it would be a “long” trip. Considering I was a sugar-fueled erratic toddler with yet to be diagnosed ADHD, just a half hour or so would qualify as a “long time.” I think the easiest way to convey this set of circumstances would be to compare me to one of those kids you see in car advertisements, where they’re on the road, agitating their parents until they turn on the backseat video player or something, and all of a sudden, it makes for a quiet and easy ride. Except, I would not be tamed so easily. 

I did the whole routine. I kicked the seat, I yelled “Are we there yet?!?,” and I screamed my frustrations out on repeat like a broken record player. Now, any normal parent would fix this issue by sticking an iPad in their kid’s face, but lucky me, I just so happened to have the only parents in the world that held on to a “no screens in the car” rule they had devoted themselves to like sacred scripture. You would think that at the point where I started fiddling with the windows, then screaming about how they had been locked in an effort to stop me, any parent in their right mind would have folded on any core belief system they held dear just to end their suffering. But nope, not mine. Their stubborn resolve on this rule never wavered. And they suffered for it.

This cycle continued for a long time, and my ludicrous sense of being deeply wronged could only be quelled by an equally absurd solution. 

One day, my mom and I were in the car heading out for my weekly swimming lessons, when, the very second we turned onto the Hutchinson River Parkway, I began arguing and kicking the back of her seat. This would have been no different from any of the other hundred or so trips, except that this time my mother responded.

Now before I continue, I feel like I need to say a few things to try and get ahead of what’s to come.

As children, we believe in fantastical things, such as the tooth fairy, monsters, magic, etc. However, as we get older, we are easily disillusioned; as we develop even the most basic of logic, the clear impracticality of these fantasies makes them easier to dismiss. But if a parent introduces a more plausible facade, say by telling their child that they’re on a low-way instead of a high-way so the child won’t complain about the long length of the trip implied by the highway, these delusions can last a bit longer. This is the type of lie that will only ever become clear by the confession of its falsity, or driving experience that would give you more knowledge of roads, highways, and so on. So hypothetically, in this context, would it really be wrong for a child to go on believing in this lie for years to come? Surprise, surprise, this was no hypothetical.

Almost immediately after it began, my Mom interrupted my rage session, casually, she told me with complete confidence and no hint of sarcasm, “No, Charlie, this isn’t a Highway. It's a Lowway – they’re much shorter and much faster.” 

In a moment that parents usually only dream of, my mouth closed, my expression relaxed, and I shut up, as I paused to process this parental-dropped bombshell. Sure, I was a bit skeptical and may not have believed her if it weren’t for the complete commitment in her tone. She had just said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. She really sold the lie. 

After a tense moment in nervous silence for my mother as she waited to see if she had sealed her fate for better or worse, I drew in a deep breath. Not wanting to look like she knew something I didn’t, my frustrated exclamation bursted out of me, "I know! We should have been going this way from the beginning!" I swear I saw my mom let out a stifled sigh of relief, something that only makes sense to me now.

 Looking back on this moment, what really cracks me up is the fact that I must have been down that highway a hundred times before that day and a hundred times after. It’s length, of course, always being the same. But hey, geography and directional aptitude were never exactly strong suits for me, the guy who took a broken arm to finally be able to tell his left from his right, so there was no way I was going to remember highways or exit numbers. From then on, the lie served its purpose. Never again was I difficult in the car.

Now, if I were to end the story here, people would probably let me off the hook, chalking it up to childhood naivety. But nope, unfortunately for me, this belief persisted just a little longer. 

Fast forward to about four or five years ago, we're driving down the highway, and someone mentions the "low-way." My sister, with a smirk on her face, goes, "I can't believe you actually believed that!" As soon as these words left her mouth, I turned my head almost painstakingly slowly to face hers, and as I did my expression contorted into a face equally the embodiment shock and pure, unbridled rage. 

“Whaaaat!” I roared. 

I couldn't believe they had kept this from me for so long. Suddenly, my entire existence was thrown into doubt. Everything I thought I knew, everything I had ever said, was up in the air. It's insane how one little misconception can shatter your entire understanding of the world. I would have found it interesting to contemplate, if I wasn't too busy cussing out my family for their so-called "justification": "We just sorta figured you would know eventually." It was enough to make a calm, collected, mature teenager want to, you know, take the low road and throw a tantrum.