Skip to main content

wrecked


Santa brought Owen a go-kart.

Santa was reluctant, despite Mrs. Claus’s pleadings that it is what he asked for and that this might be the last year he believes in him. And doesn't he have any Christmas spirit. Even a little bit.
Santa was caught up in details, like who was going to put it together, how safe it was, how were we going to get it under the tree and the hefty pricetag.
Mrs. Claus only thought of her son excited on Christmas morning or driving little circles around our cul-de-sac and sent him text after text that they were on sale. And to hurry up before they were all gone.

We did Christmas morning a day early at our house. Due to Santa’s demaning travel schedule and things like how impossible it would be a to sneak an entire person sized gokart into my car before heading over the river and through the woods.
He was not as excited as Mrs. Claus had hoped.
His sleepy eyes took it for a few spins around the living room and then we all piled into our real car and headed South.

When we got to my parents house, it was a different story. They live on a circular street, kind of like we do. But instead of ending in a a cul de sac, there street has a parking island in the middle. Their entire street makes for a perfect race loop.

Even before hugging Annie and PawPaw hello, he wanted to put on my old bike helmet Mr. Claus had insisted on and hitting the pavement for a few loops. (clearly, Mrs. Claus is a safety second kind of girl).

The other cousins lined up for there turn, they wore the tires down to the thread and drained the battery in the course of one afternoon.
Tess has happy to watch or chase it for a stretch.
I insisted that she try it out.
I grabbed the bike helmet from whatever 8 year old was next in line for the keys.
She said No! That she was scared as I clipped the buckle under her chin and let the way too big helmet slide over her eyebrows. She told me that she didn’t know how to drive yet.
I told her not to be scared. That it would be fun. Just to try it out.
In retrospect I now realize I sound like a horrible picture of the bad friend in an after school special. I might as well have been trying to give my 5 year old daughter pot. Instead, I was just trying to push her to not let fear win. To stop watching from the sidelines. To literally get in the drivers seat.

I showed her how to push the throttle forward a bit and off zoomed down the driveway.

Screaming. Straight into my already been in too many accidents new car.

I chased after her, but was no match for the now recharged battery. She screamed. My husband kept yelling “let her go”. I thought maybe he knew about some magic go kart air bag or crumple zones.
Instead, he had really been yelling “let it go” to Tess. As in let go of the throttle. Stop giving it gas and it will stop. As usual I misunderstood. And apparently he didn’t realize that he was talking to this little tiny miniature version of me, that even at 5 only knows how to go at one speed.

Tess hit the rear bumber of my car at full speed, and flopped forward a bit. There were no skinned knees. No broken bones. No missing teeth and not even any new dents in my car.

But she cried and carried on like she had just been cut out of the go kart with the jaws of life.I couldn’t believe how foolish I’d been. How I’d pushed her without teaching her the most important things.
How to use the breaks.
How to slow down.
To stop.
To turn.
How to do anything except hit the gas.

She had wrecked for the same exact reason I often do.
For going full speed even when I realize I should slow down.
For jumping in without caution.
For not stopping or bailing even when it is time.
Not knowing how to simply let it go.
 

Tess isn’t interested in driving for a while. And, lets honest, my driving record is less than stellar. I am literally on defensivedriving.com’s Christmas list.

It might be time we both work on finding our brakes.

 
 (speaking of driving....last night I drove around the block an extra two times just to hear this song again)

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

different

Someone recently sent me a meme about tattoos. I reminded them that I have over half a dozen, although none in such obvious places as the picture. I thought about it while I washed my hair, and how once my hair was also purple, and what kind of memes could be found about that. And also, my nose was pierced. Other than the first two tattoos, none of these were things I did in my youth. All were in my thirties. Currently my hair is a plain brown in a sensible cut. My tattoos all easily hidden with most clothing and only my ears are pierced. As this decade closes I have made efforts to dress more professionally, drink less, stay on top of the laundry although I still refuse to make my bed and talk at an appropriate volume level. Yet, I only looked back on my purple-haired days with longing rather than regret. See, I used to do those things to be different.   Sometimes I’d feel just a little trapped by my suburban life although perfect, felt a little too predictable. I fel...
Post a Comment
Read more

voice

I remember waking up the day after the election tired and stunned. When I got to work I went downstairs to make copies and make some tea and did not make it back to my classroom until right before the tardy bell rang. I have a large class, full of all kinds of students from all kinds of backgrounds. I had not even thought about how they would respond to the election and that since we begin school so early that I might be the first adult they saw that day.  Immediately an African American on the front row told me that she was disappointed in our country. I teach science, not government and thought that I needed to turn the conversation as quickly as I could safely back to the objectives on the board, but I could not ignore her hurt and the rest of the quiet in the room. I told her that  regardless of what candidate she supported that this country is run by more than one person, that very soon she would be able to vote, that she had a voice. Behind her, a student that also ha...
1 comment
Read more

multiple choice

As I write I am procturing a test ( yes on a Saturday, and no I am not getting paid for it.) The room is silent. The only noises I hear are pencils scratching on papers and pages turning. If I listen closely enough I swear I can hear their brains turning. I have always been a good test-taker. I would still regularly brag about my SAT scores if it wre socially appropriate to do so(or an actual indicator of anything meaningful). There is something comforting about multiple choice. (well as long as you don't have the crappy all of the above or none of the above choices...just the classic A, B, C, D variety). There are parameters. Multiple choice means you have options. The right answer is right in front of you, and all you have to do is find it. Even if you don't actually know which one the right answer is there are usually clues, it can be narrowed down or worked backwards. Even a blind guess is likely to be right 25% of the time. These aren't bad odds. All you have t...
Post a Comment
Read more