Having been a teenage boy, I can
attest that I know how to make a car skid.
I learned this skill so I would be able to make a car stop skidding, if
I were ever in extremis. But there is
more fun in creating a skid than in stopping the skid, I will now confess.
Growing up
in northern New Hampshire we fellows made good use of iced over ponds. For the sake of the spirit of my mother—who
may indeed be reading this from heaven—I can honestly attest that I was
one of the cautious ones who waited until the ice was eighteen inches thick
before edging the car out onto its surface.
That
caution differed from my earlier insouciance when it comes to ice travel. There is the story, famous in my family, of
the time my mother drove past a local pond early in winter and saw her
ten-year-old son and his dog edging their way out onto the black surface of the
new ice, on their bellies, inch by inch, with me holding the barrel of my cap
pistol and cautiously tapping ahead of myself with its grip.
I remember my logic.
I knew that it is possible to break
through ice and that doing so would lead to no good conclusion. My mother would be mad, at the least, and,
at the worst, my father. However, I
had my dog Rock with me, who would go and bring help if needed, and I had my
gun. Guns have two good qualities. First of all, they’re guns; enough said. Second of all, they make useful ice tappers.
My mother, on the other hand,
failed to subscribe to my logic. She made her failure to subscribe perfectly plain
during her subsequent remarks to me, remarks she delivered in a tone that was
unnecessarily loud, entirely devoid of sweet reason, and not nuanced in the
slightest degree. In short, she ruined
my science experiment. Knowledge is
always a benefit, as I tried to explain to her.
I was increasing both my knowledge and potentially, as an added gift to
the world, the knowledge of others as well.
Just how far can a ten-year-old boy and a dog creep onto a pond only
partially covered with ice in early December in New England? Many people would like to know.
I’m thinking of these events
because I recall a teenage driving moment, one deeply instructive. Being a young man, I liked to be in control,
behind the wheel. When I was in control,
nothing bad could ever happen. But sometimes
I was not in control, usually because the car belonged to someone else’s
father. Then his son was in control, and we other fellows were powerless.
Frequently when I was growing into
my driving years, my mother would sit me down and make the same point, over and
over again. (“I know, I know, Mom. Come on!”)
But her point was good.
One night, six of us were packed
into another fellow’s father’s car, and we were returning from a party down a
curvy road, and there was rain, and the surface was wet. Life was grand at that moment, and it was
made grander by going really fast.
Wedged into the back seat, I was
frightened. I wanted my friend to slow
down. After a few more curves, I wanted
very, very much that he slow down. But
how unsophisticated it would be to say anything!
Here’s what my mother had drummed
into my thick head: If you see something happening you don’t like, even if
others are silent about it, speak up!
Probably there are others around you who will be relieved that you did,
and, in any event, it’s your responsibility as a man.
It hurt my throat to get the words
out, but: “Hey, Peter! Hey, slow
down. Or stop and let me out. I’ll walk.”
Sure enough, there was a grateful chorus of other voices. “Yeah, Peter, too fast.” Peter grumbled, but he did slow down.
This was an early transformative
moment for me. I write this blog under this same compulsion. May we all look
around ourselves and observe what is truly happening, and speak up, and be
saved.
*****
Reach me, if you like, at dikkon@dikkoneberhart.com.
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