My Other Ride…
A middle-aged father ruminates on his reaction to a bumper sticker he sees on an unaccompanied parked car in his neighborhood as he walks the family dog.
What? Who? Why?
The second I read it, I immediately scanned the scene in my feeble attempt to identify the provocateur. An unaccompanied parked car in my neighborhood betrayed no answers.
So my reptilian mind immediately began to fill in the blanks. How could it not? Images came floating in. Maybe that says something about me.
I’m a 58-year-old father of two 20-somethings who’s still happily married to their mother. Of all the identities I carry around in my ego, the title Dad is chief among them. Jumping right over the possessive pronoun, the word “dad” became trapped in my imagination.
Who was this voracious cougar who desired to fuck her way through our neighborhood’s fragile family units and release the beasts who’ve been patinaed in their obligations to provide stability, guidance, and perfectly grilled meats from seasoned grills in well apportioned back yards?
Could I be one of those dads? No sooner had I realized that the 18-year-old me that laid smothered under 40 years of growing up was hijacking my narrative, I literally shook my head as a dog shakes off lake water. A return to sanity. Wow, that was powerful trip.
I was wiser than that. Who did this to me? Someone saw the bumper sticker which read “My other ride is your dad” and said to themselves, “That has to go on my car.” A sense of humor perhaps. But… how did they get to this decision?
With only those six words to work with, and the fact that it was a cute little black Fiat, I started to wonder what was going on here. Oh, wait a minute, it says “your dad.” Well… my dad died back in 2020 at the age of 89. That was a creepy thought. Although he would have gotten a kick out of it. I suppose my step-mother could have put this on her car just to just to set the record straight. My dad would love that joke. Her, not so much. To her credit, that’s not her style.
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So, who’s dad is this person’s other ride? In order for my fantasy to become possible, I guess the message could be addressed to one or both of my kids. All of a sudden, I’m not having as much fun with my little game. That’s just mean. Right? Why do you have to bring them into this? My son might have a brief chuckle. Because, the 18 year-old man-boy is still strong within him. But my daughter? Now I’m getting sick to my stomach. I would hope she would slap this bitch right in the face. That’s my girl. I was just out walking the dog. I have no idea who this woman is.
Unless… it’s not a woman at all. Maybe it’s a man who put this on his car. I start laughing again. Yes, a gay man with all the talents to compromise even the most steadfast breeder with a dadbod and a 401K. Driving a cute little black Fiat. The casting brief writes itself. It’s his kink now. Not mine. And this man has the sense of humor to wear his joke on his bumper. I could see all his friends now, yukking it up over fried chicken at The Colonnade.
They are likely more aware than most, of the men who have grown trapped in the hetero-normative momentum that flows from their earliest sexual awakening, locked away in a deep dark dungeon, beneath the honeymoon threshold and a blue garter pulled down like a yoke from the silken thigh of an honest woman. Mazel Tov!
He means no harm. He is just on a self-assigned mission to be an agent in the releasing of men who have become trapped in a narrative they truly never really wanted. He won’t find a taker here. But I wish him luck. All men should be free to be who they are born to be.
Having grown tired of all the speculation of just who’s dad the driver of this car is riding, my ruminations ended up on the person who wants all passersby and people stuck in rush hour traffic to see this declaration broadcast to any man, woman, boy, or girl who finds themselves staring blankly into their back window.
Memory is adding new context. I think I remember something similar on the back of a black t-shirt of a bearded ruffian on a Harley-Davidson. It said, “My other ride is your mom.” The ultimate chest poke of toxic masculinity that threatens the amygdala of any young man, challenging him to take up for his mother’s honor. It says to all comers that even under influence of the most redlining insult, I can still kick your ass. No women were considered under the development of this taunt. It’s all male bravado. Are you mature enough to let it slide and move on? Or do you have something to prove?
So what of this gender twist on a sophomoric theme? Now I’m seeing a completely different picture. Of the woman — or girl — who saw this meme on some t-shirt at Spring Break, on a loser who thinks, “It’s funny.”
But… refusing to clutch her pearls in apoplexy, flips the script by changing one word. Mom to dad. Yes, that’s it. Raising her middle finger at toxic barnyard displays. Two can play at that game.
My other ride is your dad. Feminists of the world, take back your sexual power. How does that feel you, silly boy? Are you confused? Turned on? Offended? Good. Fuck you.
Men are so stupid. This declaration on the ass of my car — this great ironic joke — sends your brain spinning. Confirming my hypothesis. How many paragraphs have you dedicated to parsing out what I mean? In the end, you’re just a simple ape. Can you laugh at my audacity? Maybe there is hope for you yet. Me? I don’t even have the fortune to be a lesbian. I’m stuck. Attracted to the male of the species. But at least my little bumper sticker will keep the worst of you away. Are you repelled? Are you insecure? I bet there’s one man who can please me in a way you never could. Tell me about your father.
You bitch.
