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My wife and I were driving home after visiting her mom when I noticed headlights quickly approaching in the rear view mirror.I was already at the speed limit and the car behind could not overtake due to oncoming traffic so the driver was tailgating me and I decided to try ignore him and flick my rear view mirror down to reduce the glare.The speed limit sign coming up on a straight stretch of road indicates that we can increase speed from the 80km to 110 and being in a powerful car and somewhat annoyed by the tailgater I floor the car and quickly get to 110 speed limit where I level off, pleased to see that the tailgater is struggling to catch up.The road is straight and now there is no oncoming traffic and the driver behind me decided he is going to overtake even though he is going to be well over the limit. His problem is becoming evident though as in his efforts to close the gap we have already covered a large section of the straight section of the road with a blind dip coming up.My wife and I look in amazement as this tiny, dented Fiat UNO finally comes flying past with the engine sounding like it’s about to tear apart and dangerously swerves in as I slow down so that he is not going to potentially head on with oncoming traffic.His brake lights flare up and we are forced to slow down to his pace , now well below the limit and crawl along unable to overtake on the solid line.Sensing that the situation is getting out of hand my wife and I decide to take a detour and we take a right turn into the next road leaving the UNO driver to crawl along.We are now in a residential area and winding our way through the back streets to make it home without interference when I see headlights in the rear view again. The uno overtakes again and cuts us off.With no interest in a confrontation with an obvious drunk or mad person I am selecting reverse when the driver jumps out and starts approaching my window.“Oh my God! “ my wife exclaimed, “it’s Mike”Mike is my colleague at work and he is looking pissed, hands clenched as he approaches.I roll down my window and greet him “Hey Mike, what’s going on?”He is immediately taken off guard at the mention of his name and I notice that his eyes are bloodshot and he is now frowning in confusion trying to work out who I was in the dark.I switched on the cabin light and his demeanour instantly changes. He looks confused and sheepish and quietly says “it’s you.”“Why were you driving so slow back there?” he starts to mumble.“We have to get home; we have work tomorrow, we can chat then.”He ambled back to his car and with a wave drove off.“What was that all about?” my wife asked.I found out later that he was having some marital issues and had moved out of his family home.He was not at work the next day, nursing a hangover no doubt, and when he did get back the incident was never discussed.I thought I knew this person but I think I may have met him for the first time that night.

My answer is my opinion based on my experience.Well. We all need somebody to blame don't we? For those hard to see aspects of ourselves. It's easier to point fingers than to stand up and take responsibility for alot of people.Everybody is manipulative. We come into this world knowing nothing and that is one of the first things we learn to do. Manipulate our environment to meet our needs. But there is a huge difference in crying because you're hungry to get attention and destroying another person because it's entertaining.We demonize you (you as a whole, not you personally) so much because you don't stop. Everybody is manipulative to some degree. But if and when I see that my actions are hurting someone else I put on the brakes and think of a better way. You gas on it and run the person over.People being hatefully manipulative is on them. They have to answer for their own behaviors and treatment of others. But it is never a reason to join in or take as confirmation that just because they do it it's ok for us to. If someone treats me bad, and they have, it is not justified for me to turn around and treat them the same. I'm responsible for how I treat others and they are responsible for how they treat others. If I treat them the same then I'm no different am I? And I have no right to complain about being mistreated if I mistreat.We will all have to stand alone one day and answer for how we played the cards that we were dealt. All alone. No distractions and no “oh yeah? well you's”…. . Nobody will be there to blame. Nobody will be there to point fingers at. Nobody is going to ask what your actions were in response to. We will face ourselves by ourself.So you have witnessed others being more hatefully manipulative than you, be grateful. You won't have to answer for their actions. Only yours.

My grandmother grew up on Telegraph Road, her generation’s version of the Internet and social media (Review of 'The Victorian Internet: The Remarkable Story of the Telegraph and the Nineteenth Century's On-Line Pioneers'.)Her father fought in the Civil War. Her future husband’s father fought in the Civil War, on the other side.She never learned how to drive a car, but she could drive a team of horses. She homesteaded in Montana and shot grizzlies while wearing a hat and white gloves while Grampa was out drinking with his good buddy Charlie Russell.She never got on a airplane. She won a free airplane ride, at a chicken and biscuits place at the airport. She gave the ride to her grandchild.All this history came alive as she was a wonderful storyteller.So it meant that as my life unfolded, I was interested in new technologies and passing ways.I know how to use a teletype machine. My first newspaper job involved writing stories on a manual typewriter and sending them to the pressroom in a hydraulic tube, the same technology used since the 1870s. We were the last major newspaper in the country that used a Linotype machine to set type. I used to visit the oily, inky, noisy pressroom and watch the typesetters work. I can read a newspaper printed backwards.My dad brought home computer punchcards for us kids to play with. I first used a computer in 1976 in my dummy computer math class (the smart kids took precalculus.) It was a Wang minicomputer and we programmed it to calculate square roots and then we played Star Trek (TOS; there was no other) on it, a turn by turn game.My next computer used a cassette tape deck to load programs on it (Basic had just been invented; thanks, Bill!) That was a big deal; my brother had a reel to reel when he recorded stuff.We rarely watched TV when I was a child. My mom and dad grew up without TV, since it had yet to be invented. We listened to the radio instead; and not just music, radio plays.Every child learned ballroom dancing. I owned white gloves and a hat for church. My first gloves were when I was four; I got chocolate all over them.Back when I first started flying on airplanes, no woman would wear pants to travel, let alone jeans or sweats. I grew up never seeing a man, woman or child wearing sweat pants if they weren’t participating in a sporting event.My dad taught me how to use a slide rule. I got a calculator in high school. It was big, made by Texas Instruments, and cost over $400.My dad also taught me drafting and how to use templates.I learned how to write cursive when I was four. My grandfather could do, and I only knew how to print, so I forced him to teach me how to sign my name. He used a fountain pen all his life, so I did too (still do.) He rolled his own cigarettes and chewed Beech Nut gum.I can read cursive, any cursive, even old documents and the worst’s physician or engineer’s scrawl. My children have a hard time reading my schoolteacher’s script and have no desire to learn this skill. My grandparents wrote in Spencerian script with a dip pen and my parents learned via the Palmer Method.I remember that if you had the wrong skin color or religion, you were unable to legally live wherever you wanted. It was illegal to even marry whoever you wanted. It was a felony offense.I remember rotary dial phone. You leased it from Ma Bell and it lasted until the day you died.I know how to use a treadle sewing machine, and own one. I learned on my grandmother’s black Singer. I can make my own dresses, quilts and curtains. I can slipcover a sofa.I learned how to shoot. I started at four, with my older brother, shooting shaving cream cans in the back yard. In the city.I took my Brownie Girl Scout pocket knife to elementary school, used it in a knife throwing contest, and no one called the cops.I have never owned a digital watch.My husband and I bought a Pentium desktop computer for his business. It was over $2200. I worked at Fortune 30 company at the time. Not only did few employees have a computer on their desk, this was a nicer, faster computer than anyone in the company had access to. My boss, a techie guy, was insanely jealous.I remember dumb terminals and green screens. I can program at a C prompt.I can drive a car with manual transmission and a choke, or one without power windows, power steering or power brakes.I have built a crystal radio and one with vacuum tubes. I learned Morse code andSemaphore and actually used them.I sent letters to Europe using air mail paper (special thin wrinkled paper called “onionskin”.) I remember twice a day postal deliveries (mother complained because it used to be three times a day.) I remember penny candy. Candy bars were a nickle. Gas was 33 cents.When I married, I had hand-engraved invitations. Anything else was in shockingly poor taste. I can tell if something is hand-engraved.It still shocks me when I see someone with writing across their backside. Same with tattoos. My mother and grandmother were shocked by women who had pierced ears. I wear clip on earrings because of this.I remember when Democrats and Republicans got along. I remember when everyone respected the Office of the Presidency, no matter which rascal was president.I am less than 100.I try to share these stories with my children, but it’s just too foreign to them.