On the way to the train, there was a car in front of us the exact make, model, and color as mine.

“Joe, that Dodge has a Ram symbol on the trunk. Why can’t I have a Ram symbol?” I was doing my charming Veruca Salt imitation.

“Oh darlin, that ain’t a Ram. That there is a long-horned steer.”

“I didn’t know the word ‘steer’ had two syllables.”

“Down South it does.” He pulled up beside the guy at the stoplight. “I b’lieve this boy is an Aggie.”

He started making a horn sign with his fingers, which is also like that sign we used to make as teenagers to feel cool at rock concerts (actually, I think I know some grown adults, and a cartoon falcon, that still make that sign).

“Stop, Joe. Just…stop.”

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