A Scar for Life

A small, faded circle the size of a dime, a shade darker than my normal skin sits permanently in the crook of my ankle. Barely noticeable if you don’t really look. The scar is barely an indent in my skin, the smallest disturbance in an ocean of normalcy. This permanent patch made itself from a cut that wasn’t that deep. I never expected it to scar, but maybe my body knew it was not something to forget.

I sat mesmerized by this tiny circle on my ankle the day I was supposed to start driving school. Turning 16 meant I could drive, that I could finally get my license. But while the rest of my classmates rushed, excited to get behind the wheel, I was scared. Terrified because in this hidden scar lay a flash of black metal and the fear of a five-year-old girl.

This little circle became the first stain on my unscarred body on a warm day in California. I was visiting my Bampa like I did on every break. My mom and I had gone to the supermarket, and on our way back I pushed the cold metal button to cross the street, bouncing around impatiently. As soon as the white cross signal beckoned us across the street, I pulled my mom along urging her to go faster and faster. Almost halfway across the street, I noticed a black blur on my left coming closer and closer. The last thing I remember was turning to see a smooth black Volkswagen.

I woke up on cold concrete, sprawled out on the sidewalk. I felt numb and wished someone would come pick me up, but no one came. I picked myself up and found my mother. She smiled for me, but I knew she was in pain. She had been hit by the car and thrown me out of the way. Piercing, sharp sirens filled the air and the street was crowded with firetrucks and police cars. I was separated from my mother as police officers questioned her and a firefighter questioned me. With his gentle words and soft eyes, the firefighter squatting down to my eye level asked me if I was okay. He was kind and his presence felt like safety, but the frigid tang of fear coursing through my veins kept my mouth shut. Head nods and shakes were my only responses, and if I had to speak it was fear that cut my frozen lips open. It was in my helplessness that I finally noticed the tiny red dot that had creeped its way onto my tights. Far down past the rips and gray marks on my bunny-white tights the little red dot glared back at me from my ankle. My body ached but my mind only focused on that little spot that stung ever so slightly like the prick of a needle or the scratch of sandpaper. As people swirled around me all I could remember was staring at that dot on my ankle.

I was lucky that the accident wasn’t that serious. No one went to the hospital, everything healed except for the scar on my ankle. But it stuck with me. The screech of tires, the flashing police lights, my sealed lips. The possibility that if it weren’t for my mother I might not be here today. The hood the perfect height to smash my skull, the bumper the right angle to throw my small body through the air. Its sting reached far deeper than the scar I could see to the helplessness of a child, the harsh reality of the world that would steal the joy of a warm day from a 5-year-old girl.

So, as I sat there ready to embark on my own journey behind the wheel, I found myself reliving that day vowing to never take away from another person or child what was almost taken from me. I have been blessed to have never been in another accident again, but my experience forced me to understand that the smallest mistakes and choices that a person makes behind the wheel have effects that compound exponentially effecting victims and their families for the rest of their lives.

Driving is a privilege. It provides ease of transportation to allow each person to do more than they could do without it, but people must understand that it can easily become a weapon. Drivers’ education is so important because its verified curriculum ensures every one of its students leaves understanding the weight of this privilege. In drivers’ education students are given an understanding of how to drive and how wonderful it can be, but they are also expected to learn about all the potential dangers of unsafe driving choices as well as their consequences. While people can learn to drive simply by learning from a friend or family member, there is no way to standardize the knowledge taught, so it only guarantees that drivers are created. Drivers’ education ensures that safe drivers are created. And that is a difference that can save a lot of lives.

For this reason, it is essential that all new drivers go through drivers’ education. Drivers’ education programs should be required for all new drivers to get their license. To do so, efforts should be expanded to make drivers education programs more accessible and affordable to all people. By having more drivers go through this program, we can ensure that we are putting more safe, knowledgeable drivers onto the roadways. While it is true that people will continue to make poor choices on the roads that will cost lives, expanding drivers’ education program opportunities will help to at least decrease the amount of bad choices that are made.

For me, the scar on my ankle remains a constant reminder to never forget all that I know about the dangers of driving. It’s a reminder to make smarter choices on the road, to not rush, and drive safely. It’s a reminder that driving can be fun and exciting and convenient, but one bad choice can make it devastating. It’s a reminder to call my friends out when they drive dangerously, and it’s a reminder to be careful and think twice on the road. So even though the scar on my ankle may only be a subtle indent in my skin, it carries the weight of my commitment to always be a safer driver.