He Wasn’t a Statistic, He Was My Uncle

“Last week, your uncle went to heaven.”

What?

My developing 6-year-old mind imploded at the statement, knowing that heaven meant death, but not really knowing what death meant. I knew it was permanent, but I didn’t know what it meant to die. I wouldn’t have believed that I would never get to see my Uncle David again if it weren’t for the quiver in my mother’s voice and the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

I didn’t find out how he lost his life until a year later. We, my mother, brother, and I, were in the car and passed a man riding a skateboard in the middle of the street. Immediately, a heaviness entered the vehicle when my mom commented that he shouldn’t be so reckless and needed to be off the road. Then, immaturely yet unknowingly, my brother joked that he could be “squashed like a bug.” The tension became so thick I felt like I was trying to gulp air through a straw.

After that, my mother finally confirmed that my uncle, the youthful boy she spent every moment of her childhood with, lost his ability to make our family whole again on a Las Vegas sidewalk in a hit-and-run accident.

Nearly eight years later, I sat behind the wheel for the first time with my mother in the passenger seat. I didn’t get to drive that day, but I got a list of rules she would later test me on instead.

1. “Play keep-away from cars.”

2. “Never trust a blinker.”

3. “Don’t ever… EVER get behind the wheel drunk.”

4. “Always remember, you’re responsible for more lives than your own.”

I live by my mother’s code every time I drive, but I wonder, why didn’t the person who fled after taking my uncle’s spark? Why didn’t the other drivers who ended a total 32,719 lives in 2013? Why does one single, preventable moment change the lives of countless families forever?

The truth is, driving is not a deadline. It’s not granted when you reach a certain age. It’s not a gift obtained through ignorance, and it’s not an accomplishment celebrated by the quality of a 2×2 photo on an ID card. Driving is real. It’s deciding whether you have to swerve or slam on your brakes when a car pulls out in front of you. On one hand, you can swerve into the lane next to you and hopefully only swipe the car next to you, or you can slam on your brakes and hope the car behind you does the same. Or, you collide with the car who pulled out in front of you. It’s a split second decision that affects every individual around you. Driving isn’t a right, but a reward earned through growth and proper education.

A huge issue is that it’s so much easier to hear numbers like 32,719 and try to not feel anything. To pretend there’s nothing lost, but I, and thousands of other grieving family members, can tell you that’s not true. They’re stories. They’re people who didn’t get to come home. People with nicknames, favorite songs, and childhood memories. They’re people like my Uncle David; losses, not statistics.

However, losses don’t come with warnings. That one split second tragic moment is what makes teen driving serious. It’s not just about knowing what a road sign means or what to do at a four-way stop, but acknowledging that the road is shared. Once you acknowledge that fact, you must then understand the weight of being responsible for so many lives. From your brother in the passenger seat, to the person in the car next to you, even to the mother and daughter waiting for the crosswalk, lives must be respected and protected.

Driver’s education helps instill the tools to make that impossible choice. It doesn’t just teach how to pass a test or where to park, it fights the nature of distracted driving: a text, a joke, a song change. It teaches to slow down, to plan ahead, and to respect that other drivers might not, yet understand that it’s still your responsibility to pay attention.

The biggest issues for teen drivers aren’t limited to obvious lack of experience. It’s the overconfidence that comes with being new and the pressure of performing for passengers. It’s the temptation to treat the car like an extension of your social life instead of a machine that can end lives.

To combat this reckless ideology, teens need both support and accountability, and that starts with the need to stop treating drivers ed like a box to check. Solutions acknowledging this problem look like schools implementing peer-led programs, ones with students or speakers with real life experience. Parents should set firm expectations, and not just assume their kid is “probably responsible.” Communities can start campaigns to make safe drivers the standard, not the exception. Bring in survivors, invite the families of victims, and make simulations mandatory. Students should feel the weight of what happens when you don’t pay attention when behind the wheel, so let them feel what it means to be too late. It should be as second-nature to buckle your seatbelt, drive the speed limit, and silence your phone as it is to check your mirrors.

Finally, teens and other fresh drivers need to hold each other to safe standards. If your friend wants to race or show off, say something. If your driver pulls out their phone, speak up. Being a passenger doesn’t make you powerless, and you have every right to protect your life.

So what makes me passionate about teen driver safety? It’s personal; it’s my uncle, and it’s the thousands of stories that will be told because one person thought they had time to glance away from their future, or didn’t bother to stop for their lives. It’s the reality that I, and every driver like me, hold immense power in our hands every time we grab our keys. The next number in a traffic safety report shouldn’t be someone’s sibling, parent, child, or friend. It shouldn’t be anyone.