Please Slow Down

Even though two full days have passed, I can still see it very vividly each and every time I close my eyes.  A parent's worst nightmare: a car barreling towards my child with nothing I could do to stop it.

We were out for a walk like we are nearly every weekend morning.  We were on the back roads in our neighborhood where, at this time of day, we hardly ever even encounter a car at all in our trek to Whitaker Elementary School (the school where Riley will start kindergarten this fall).  The dogs were off their leashes, as they almost always are.  Chase was dawdling, as he almost always is.  Riley was riding his scooter a decent distance ahead of us, as he almost always is, working on perfecting the foot brake.  Casey and I were discussing where Chase might end up for school this fall if the boys' current school closes or if the transition does not goes as we hope.

Up ahead of us, there is a stop sign.  Between the stop sign and our current location, there is a bend in the road.  No car should be able to work up any amount of speed before reaching the bend in the road since the car would have just stopped at the stop sign.  Casey and I must've seen the car at the same moment.  It was barreling around the bend in the road, and I really do mean barreling.  If the car was doing less than 50 miles an hour around a bend in the road on a residential street, I would be stunned.  As fast as the car was going, the whole world suddenly was in slow motion.  Although we could see what was happening unfolding, there was nothing we could do to stop it.  There wasn't even a chance to yell down the road to Riley, not that he would've heard it even if we had.  All I could see was a huge SUV and our sweet, almost 5-year-old boy on his scooter way up ahead of us sporting his tiny little Lightning McQueen helmet that could've done absolutely nothing to save him had he been hit.  I was paralyzed.

Casey swears the car saw Riley and swerved.  I think it swerved only because it was going so fast around a bend.  Either way, the car did not hit him and we had time to spring into action before the car made its way down the road towards us.  I instinctively grabbed the dogs and pulled them to the side of the road while Casey corralled Chase.  Both of us screamed at the car to slow down.  It was only later, when it was too late, that we thought to write down the license plate number.

When I turned my attention away from the driver of the speeding car, and was able to focus my eyes on our sweet, precious, rule-following Riley, it registered that he had stepped off of his scooter and had pulled it to the side of the road, like we had practiced countless times as we'd seen cars approaching while he was riding.  I am certain he is safe only because he saw the car coming before we did and did exactly what he'd been trained to do.  I doubt he realized that the car was traveling way too fast and (happily) I doubt he realized he was in any real danger.  Still, at that very moment, I found myself realizing that we, as parents, don't make and enforce arbitrary rules just to make our children perfect little mini adults.  We do it because we want them to be safe.  We teach them the rules and then give them more and more freedoms, hoping that they'll remember those rules as they gain their independence.  On Saturday, I was glad that we are fairly strict with our rules compared to most.  I don't regret for one second giving Riley the freedom to ride his scooter ahead of us, but I do regret that someone felt that her hurried life was more important than my family's safety, and I will be forever thankful that Riley emerged from the situation unscathed, thanks to his understanding of how to stay safe on the road.

It took me almost ten seconds to gain the ability to breathe again after I saw that Riley was safely standing on the side of the road.  Riley, bless his heart, was worried that he was in trouble somehow -- thinking that we were yelling at him and not the car.  Casey somehow had the ability to move and made his way quickly to Riley.  Tears welling in my eyes, I took my time to catch up to the rest of them so I could regain my composure.  Casey took one look at me and knew something was wrong, so I guess I didn't do that very well.  We spent the next few minutes of the walk telling Riley how proud we were of him and how we were so very glad that he got over to the side of the road when he saw the car approaching.  We also discussed how the driver of the car was not being safe.  We didn't dwell on it too much with him, but did want to make the point that he had done the right thing.  I will never forget the look on the driver's face as she passed us -- she put her hand in front of her face and looked in the other direction, clearly embarrassed by what she knew she had done (and almost done).  I hope she learned that there's no hurry and no distraction worth what she had almost done.  I know I did.  Please slow down.