When ‘Cool’ Meets Consequence

I was only three months away from getting my driver’s license when my perspective on driving was turned upside down. I was a nervous driver, even with my dad beside me, the only one brave enough to teach a 16-year-old how to handle the road. The idea of going a mile above the speed limit terrified me. I’d slam on the brakes as soon as I saw it, unlike my older brothers, who would casually text and drive. I remember looking at them in admiration, eager to reach that level of ease and confidence behind the wheel. I wanted to be that “cool” driver who could handle the wheel with one hand while answering a “ding” on their phone.

One day, I was out with my sister-in-law. She was my role model—a strong, fearless woman who I admired like the older sister I never had. We had just returned from an ice cream hangout on a sunny afternoon, driving down 15 Mile Road, when I noticed something that caught me off guard. She wasn’t wearing her seatbelt. Rather than worrying, I admired her confidence, thinking that adults must have their own way of staying safe on the road, even without a seatbelt. I asked her, “How do you feel safe without wearing your seatbelt?” She chuckled, then said something that seemed brave to me at the time: “Oh, to compensate for not wearing it, I just solidify my left foot.” She explained her technique—pushing her left foot against the floor so that if she had to brake suddenly, her body wouldn’t fling forward. She even told me to try it.

I know how absurd this sounds now—a 16-year-old told to plant her left foot instead of using a seatbelt. But back then, I was intrigued and didn’t know any better. For the next couple of years, I followed her example. I didn’t wear my seatbelt, convincing myself that pressing my left foot down was just as safe. It was only when I turned 18 that I realized how wrong I was.

My father, my safe driving teacher, got into a car accident that changed everything. He was driving through an intersection when someone ran a red light, causing his car to spin five times. I was at the gym, midway through my workout, when I got the call from my mother. She told me he’d been in an accident. I froze. My heart pounded, faster than it had been on the treadmill, and my hands started sweating. I left the gym and headed home, anxious to see if my father was okay.

When I arrived, he was sitting in the living room, clearly shaken. I had never seen him like that. He looked at me and recounted the terrifying experience, and as he showed me pictures of the damaged car, I was overwhelmed. It was truly a miracle that he’d survived. The car was in horrible shape, and it was only because of his seatbelt that he hadn’t been thrown out of the vehicle. In that moment, I realized how lucky he was, how lucky we all were to still have him.

Seeing my father so vulnerable shattered my view of what it meant to be a “cool” driver. I thought back to my sister-in-law’s advice, and I was horrified by how easily I’d accepted it without questioning the risks. This accident was a wake-up call that made me rethink my approach to driving. I gave my dad a tight hug and silently promised him—and myself—that I would drive differently. From that day forward, I wore my seatbelt every time I got in a car. I stopped worrying about looking cool or imitating others, and I began focusing on what truly mattered—being safe, responsible, and protecting the lives of everyone in the car with me.

Reflecting on this experience, I realize how naive I was, but also how important it is to learn from our mistakes and the close calls of those we love. My father’s accident taught me the reality of car safety, the fragility of life, and the power of being proactive rather than reactive when it comes to safe driving. I know now that wearing a seatbelt, following speed limits, and focusing on the road aren’t just rules—they’re actions that can save lives.

Today, I drive with purpose and respect for the responsibility that comes with being behind the wheel. I also share what I’ve learned with others, hoping they won’t wait for a wake-up call like I did. My family, and my own experience, showed me that recklessness on the road isn’t something to take lightly. I no longer see driving as an opportunity to “look cool,” but as a privilege that demands my full attention, respect, and care.

My father’s accident changed me, and while I can’t change the past, I can commit to being a safer driver in the future. Each time I buckle my seatbelt or avoid checking my phone, I remember that moment of fear and relief, knowing that one small choice can make a difference. I’ve learned that “cool” isn’t about risky behavior but about making choices that keep myself and others safe. This is a lesson I will carry with me forever, as I work to be the driver—and the person—that I want to be.