David
Heiller
Joe hopped in the truck and headed to
school on Monday morning. Α fine mist had fallen in the early
morning hours, and was still sifting down. It had frozen on the windshield, and
coated the roads with an almost invisible layer of ice.
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| "Joe" and a different red truck. |
Joe wasn’t
thinking about much as he drove to school. Not until he hit the icy patch. He
figured he was going about 55 miles an hour when that happened and he was
suddenly out of control. Is there anything more frightening than losing control
of a vehicle? Joe didn’t think so. His heart felt like it was going to come out
of his shirt.
It all happened so fast. The tail of the truck
swung around and clipped the Hillbrand mailbox, sending it over
two barbed wire fences like a Kent Hrbek homerun.
Then the truck shot to the other side of the
road like a pinball. Α utility pole whizzed past, just inches
away. Here comes the ditch! Α small tree shattered, its top falling
on the hood. The truck plowed through grass and dirt and brush and came to an
abrupt halt.
The whole
incident took perhaps 10 seconds.
Joe
struggled to get out, but he couldn’t open the driver’s door. It was held shut
by brush. He crawled across the seat and opened the passenger’s door. He
struggled through the trees to the highway. A friend drove by on her way to school.
Joe flagged her down. She turned around and gave him a ride back home.
He entered the house, to the surprise
of his parents, and said simply, “Call Rock’s.”
Joe’s dad called Rock’s Towing. Then
they drove to the truck. They could barely see it; it was so far into the
woods. But it was easy to see what had happened: the slick spot on the bridge,
the rear end of the truck clipping the mailbox, then the furious crash into the
ditch on the other side. When Joe’s dad saw how close his son had come to the
utility pole, he almost unconsciously reached an arm across his son’s shoulders
and gave him a squeeze. Another foot to the left, and Joe would have hit it
head on, going very fast. There is no telling what would have happened to Joe.
He had his seat belt on. Thank goodness he did that. But it still would have
been ugly.
When Joe
got back home, he gave his mother a hug, something he very seldom does. It
started to sink in how lucky he had been.
Then Mitch Rock arrived with his big
tow truck. Is there a more welcome sight to a stranded motorist than a tow
truck driver? Mitch hooked a cable to the truck’s bumper. Joe’s dad cut the
broken tree off at the ground with a chainsaw. The balsam tree was partially
rotten. That’s why it had sheared off so easily, even though it was seven
inches in diameter. He also cut away some of the brush that pushed against the
truck. Then Mitch winched and pulled the truck out of the ditch. Amazingly, Joe’s
dad could drive the truck home. It was hardly hurt. Joe took a different car to
school, and his mom and dad proceeded to work.
That was it. An hour’s delay and an
exciting story to tell for the price of a $65 towing fee.
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| "Joe" and his grateful family. |
Well, not quite. Everybody in Joe’s
family counted their lucky stars that day. They said a few prayers too. What if
Joe had hit that telephone pale head-on going 50 miles an hour? What if that
balsam tree had been strong and healthy? It wouldn’t have given in like that.
What if someone had been coming from the other direction when the truck had skidded
into the other lane?
I know Joe’s family well. I know Joe
as well as I know myself, and I know his dad even better. I love Joe’s mom. I
am very thankful for them all. For us. Not everybody is this lucky.
It’s that time of year, folks. You
might be ready for winter. The hose might be put away, the firewood stacked,
the snow blower tuned up. All those other chores might be done, and you are
proud of that.
Do one more thing. Slow down. Drive
carefully this winter. And count your blessings.
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