I could see it was being driven by another middle-aged guy, a beard and sunnies masking his face – yeah, we could have been brothers.
With the way now safe, I accelerated, slowly. I won’t pretend on some level I wasn’t fuming – what if he hadn’t stopped and I hadn’t been able to back up fast enough? What if we’d hit head-on?
I lifted my hand off the wheel, but, with my teenage son beside me, a new driver, I…waved.
And he…waved, and nodded back, a tacit acknowledgement that said, “yep, sorry, I stuffed that one up”. And in return I was silently accepting with a wave that said, “yep, no worries, all good”.
There was no road rage. No middle fingers. No swearing, or honking of horns.
And I thought: this is it, this is what our role is, this is what our place on the bus is – to choose to not be dickheads. To choose non-violence, every time, in every way.
To be kind. To be empathetic. To be compassionate. To be an example: to show that to be a strong, good man does not mean you have to overtly prove anything. That you do not need to assert anything