On family road trips, when I was a bad boy, my father would sometimes threaten to stop the car and make me get out and walk. Eventually, since the gambit never worked, he moved to the next level, pulling over on the shoulder one day and forcing me, with strong language, to climb out. Then he pretended to drive away. The first time he did this, he didn’t go far—only twenty or thirty yards. It scared me. I ran after the car, but just that once.