He is the picture of success and kindness, adored by everyone he meets. He works tirelessly to provide a comfortable suburban life for his beautiful wife and children. His children thrive at Santa Clarita Valley schools, excelling in academics, extracurriculars and faith. He teaches his kids to live by the golden rule, to love your neighbor and treat others as you wish to be treated. Each weekday begins before dawn with his long commute to Los Angeles, a familiar grind for suburban professionals. Despite the stress, he arrives at the office as the cheerful director, beloved for his compassionate leadership.
Evenings are a flurry of family activity. He returns home to an enthusiastic welcome, shares a healthy meal, and then divides up the night’s tasks: His wife escorts the daughters to dance or gymnastics, while he takes his son to baseball practice or training camps to master his pitching and hitting techniques.
But there is one quirk: The moment he gets behind the wheel to commute, the genial family man’s soul transforms. He becomes the wolf-man under the glow of a full moon on a clear night. Obstacles, warning signs and hazards encountered provoke impulsive outbursts and impatience, rather than caution.
As he exits the driveway and winds through Saugus, he nears Plum Canyon Elementary, greeted by a sign flashing a warning that he exceeded the zone’s speed limit. He hits the accelerator to see how fast he can go. After all, school is not in session. Then he is interrupted by a caution sign announcing he is entering a deaf child play area. He rolls down the window and begins blasting his music, and speeds off loudly screeching his tires. The wolf-man conversion on full display, but he is not alone, the roadways now teeming with others undergoing a similar transformation.
He sees in the middle of the road a child-shaped sign holding a “SLOW DOWN” banner. It caught his eye, making him wonder which of his neighbors snagged it on Amazon and nominated herself Santa Clarita’s Miss Captain Safety! He speeds up and plows over the sign, with it becoming stuck until it jolts loose after he’s airborne over a speed bump.
Ready to accelerate onto State Route 14, he’s blocked by a short bus flashing its red warning lights. He chuckles, but the laughter is short-lived as the bus remains halted for what seemed to be an eternity, with children walking unhurried down the sidewalk, one bouncing a beach ball and another stopping intermittently to play air guitar to something on his headphones. He eventually passes, justifying himself. After all a short bus is not a real bus, right?
Now on SR-14 he is slowed by a silver-haired driver and abruptly speeds past, only to be slowed by a minivan with a “Baby on Board” sign on the window. This causes his blood pressure to rise, as he zips through the Newhall Pass transitioning onto Interstate 5 southbound. He is cut off by a someone with a student driver magnet adorning the bumper. He gets a glimpse of the driver and determines him to be an elderly man, who appears terrified, with a death grip on the wheel. He sneers at him before passing.
The moment he arrives at the office and steps out of the car, the transformation vanishes. The beloved man returns — leaving the beast of the road behind until the next commute. As he exits his car the student driver he passed arrives and parks near him. The elderly man exits his vehicle and cheerfully introduces himself. The director introduced himself, and the man advised he taught advanced actuarial science and mathematics, and is excited to start his first day as chief actuary. The man said he grew up in Manhattan and today was the first day he has driven a car in decades. As they exchange pleasantries, the director recalled the man was hired to save their insurance company from financial disaster after large losses from the L.A. wildfires. The director has high hopes the new hire’s numerical mastery will save the company from disaster and regain profitability. Everyone’s year-end bonus for 2026 depends on it.
Let’s remind ourselves to always be kind, get along with each other, even when you are behind the wheel.
Anthony N. Cervello
Canyon Country
