I once got into a fight with the mayor of Bettendorf, Iowa. I was 17, and it was during a pick-up basketball game 60 years ago. No fighter am I, not really; just a bit of pushing and shoving, with a middle-aged, overweight man.

Afterward, even this brain-half-formed teenager was embarrassed. As I recall, my opponent was short, too. Not that height is destiny, but I’ve always had a soft spot for Napoleon.

I get my pugnacity from my mother. Not that genes are destiny either, thank goodness, as I no longer care much for this aggressive part of my personality.

That’s why I like my Subaru Forester. It has a more humble, laid-back grille to present to the world. Unlike the AI-created version in the first photo. Here is the real McCoy.

You might not be able to tell the difference. But I can feel it. This vehicle is more comfortable with yellow lights, slowing down, and yielding to the car on the right that arrives at the intersection at the same time.

My car’s great-grandfather, like Pete Seeger, preferred the acoustic Bob Dylan rather than the electric one, which he found brought out his aggression.

It’s hard for me to imagine this fella behind the wheel of my car.

Of course, he is smiling. But that’s a pretense. It’s all about dominance, being King of the Mountain.

Better this look.

Because you’ll underestimate him.

And then, he’ll have you exactly where he wants you.

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