All I Got For Father's Day Was A Car Crash
I would have been fine with a tie.
First, let me start off by saying “Happy Father’s Day” to all the dads out there who are doing it every day.
You are my heroes.
My Father’s Day weekend got off to a rough start, courtesy of a car accident involving my whole family. [video below]
As I reflect back on this incident with survivor’s luxury, I can’t help but segment it by time; estimated both in human dramatics and fallibility.
For context, it was an unremarkable Saturday. Early morning family hike, then breakfast, and a trip to IKEA to find daughter Lund a new bed.
As we were leaving the Swedish mecca of design crappitude, halfway through the intersection of South Coast Drive and Harbor Boulevard, we were T-boned by a driver in the left-hand turn lane who didn’t understand the concept of “Left turn lane yields on green.”
So, let’s start the clock.
⏱️A quarter of a second⏱️
AI, quantum computing, high frequency trading, we recognize these as digital decision-making algorithms that can act in less than the blink of an eye.
But the human brain ain’t no slouch.
I’m guessing it was a quarter of a second between when I realized we were going to be hit and when I reacted.
It all happened so fast, yet so slow.
I remember thinking, “Oh, this fucker is going to hit us. But where will he hit us, and can I do anything about it?”
I knew my son was seated behind me, on the side where the impact was imminent.
Life is unfair, but he just turned 14 and only graduated from 8th grade the day before, so it struck me as excessively unfair that he should die.
“Turn to the right,” I thought, “and quick, punch the gas.”
Maybe that will push the impact point past him?
⏱️1/20th of a second⏱️
People bitch a lot about the world these days. Everything sucks. Everyone is bad. My microwave pizza takes 3-minutes to cook - and it isn’t even crispy.
Technology advances at a blistering pace yet we adapt, acclimatize, and continue to expect so easily.
We’re not grateful when things work, because they should.
It’s only when they don’t that we notice.
However, I’m grateful that back in the day some ultra-nerd engineers said, “I bet we can invent some side curtain airbags that deploy within a twentieth of second after impact.”
⏱️3.5 seconds⏱️
They say that life can change in an instant.
Based on yesterday’s events I’d clock that at roughly three and a half seconds.
A time span that, yet again, should pass so fast, but seemed so long.
“Is everybody okay? Are you okay?”
One long second. Then another, 10-times as long.
Has it all changed? Has my life, all of our lives, changed in an instant?
“I’m okay,” says the wife.
“I’m okay,” says the daughter.
And, after what seems like an eternal pause, comes, “I’m okay too,” from the son.
We’re okay. We’re okay.
⏱️30 seconds⏱️
But are we really okay?
I’ve seen ‘Platoon.’ I’ve seen ‘Full Metal Jacket.’ I’ve seen ‘Saving Private Ryan.’
You say you’re okay, but you’re carrying your severed arm and telling no one in particular that you want to go home.
Cuts, blood, dilated pupils, compound fractures, and dazed confusion, I’m triaging faster than Hawkeye in M*A*S*H.
“YOU’RE SURE YOU’RE OKAY?” I scream at my tribe for the tenth time as if my Darth Vader voice can retard and reverse physical damage.
“Yes, we’re okay,” comes the annoyed communal response as the clock ticks thirty-one seconds and I take a deep, long breath.
⏱️Five minutes⏱️
The time in which everything starts to sink in.
The police are here. So too the firemen.
They pepper me with questions as the dick who hit us keeps innuendoing that I was at fault.
Do we want paramedics? Do we need to go to the hospital?
What direction were you heading? Where had you just come from? Were you on your phone? Did you have seatbelts on? Was the light green when you entered the intersection?
So many questions. I mean, my family just got T-boned five minutes ago, but let’s do this…
No. No. West, I think. Is that [pointing] west? IKEA (said with 35% shame). No. Yes. I’m pretty sure it was green.
“How sure?” says the police officer.
“Pretty sure.”
“On a percentage basis, how sure are you that it was green?”
I’m dazed, semi-confused, but not stupid.
I’m 100% sure it was green. But I know they hear that all the time, so I’ve got to be strategic. Dial it back a bit so they know I’m sure of my conviction, but not blindly rejecting responsibility.
“99.9%,” I say.
⏱️Two hours later⏱️
That’s when I lost it. I mean, LOST IT.
The reports had been taken, cars towed, and crash scene swept clean. Like it never happened.
Watching the video at home, I’m struck by how benign it now looks.
Absent the impact, the screams, and the sheer violence of the collision, it almost seems like a fender bender.
But it wasn’t. And things could have ended so differently.
What if he’d hit us straight on? Or one foot forward. Or farther back.
What if we flipped? What if another car hit us in the intersection?
And I lose it thinking of what could have happened.
⏱️About 20 hours a week⏱️
That’s how much time I spend stressing over stupid shit that doesn’t matter.
Take for example this week, when I beat myself up because I didn’t feel that I was long ENOUGH as the market raged higher. That I was missing out.
Seems like such a silly, small, and yes, privileged concern now.
I need to do better.
⏱️17 years⏱️
That’s how long I’ve been a dad.
And fortunately, I’m still one today.
I’m not religious, but I feel like I should thank someone or something for that.
So be it God, Mohammed, Buddha, Jimmy Page, Shiva, Vishnu, Mark Zuckerberg, Satan, that guy who keeps predicting Armageddon, a twist of fate, luck, or the invisible hand of the universe, “Thank you.”
⏱️39 years⏱️
That’s how long I’ve been paying car insurance premiums.
And this is why.
Coda
-This video was from the dash cam of a driver waiting at the opposite light who pulled over after the accident and then sent it to me.
As you can see, I clearly had the green light.
-I’ve never been a car guy. They’re just utilitarian to me. The main reason I bought my car was that it had the highest safety ratings in a crash.
It was almost brand new. Now it’s totaled.
But it proved its utility. It protected my family.
-My kids are great and already have a wicked sense of humor. I found these on the kitchen table this morning.
(“Gramps,” was how a witness at the scene kept referring to the other driver, though I suspect we’re about the same age).
-On the bright side, I got my 18-year-old self’s fantasy car for a rental.
Happy Father’s Day!
(Oh, and yes, we're all okay. We'll feel like we were beaten with bats for a few days, but we're okay.)
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