No, I'm not talking Thanksgiving. I'm definitely not talking turkey. I'm talking the finger. And not just any finger, the middle finger. Today, I inadvertently pulled out in front of a gray headed man in a little blue Volvo. As he swerved past me, he proceeded to flip me off. As we pulled up to the next stop light, I thought of the many ways I could respond. I held back all the obscenities that were spinning through my head as I chuckled to myself thinking this guy must really have a bad temper or maybe he is having a bad day. I then pulled out my right hand and gave him my universal sign. You know, the "peace sign". It's the way I like my bird. Two fingers extended in a "V". I love it. How else is one to communicate while driving recklessly through the streets of middle Tennessee.
I find the sign quite useful. The other day, a young lady cut me off in traffic. As our cars stopped at the next light, I saw her politely mouth, "I'm sorry." I kindly gave her the sign. No, not the finger...the fingerS. The peace sign that is. In church every Sunday, we greet those around us with "Peace be with you" or "The peace of Christ". As it is with many teens, my daughter sits on the very back row on most Sundays. Since some Sundays, I am not near the back row, I like to find her during this greeting. I like to make eye contact and smile and flash her the peace sign in church. It's my way of passing it on.
I know some of my readers are going to have flashbacks to the sixties and the peace symbol on the back of the Volkswagen vans. The days when a hippie might sound a little stoned and give you the peace sign as a statement against the Vietnam war and for a little world peace. Well, I hate to admit it but those stoners of the sixties were on to something, something more than a little LSD and grass. They knew what I know today and that is the fact that we could all use a little peace...especially that gray haired old guy in that blue Volvo.
