One Distraction, But Only One Life

I scrimmaged in pain as I tried moving my arms to place my palms on the blazing hot gravel in hopes of propping myself up to see what had just happened, but I continued lying motionless on the street. My body felt stiff, and just in a few seconds, I was glued to the ground. All I could hear was the music blasting through the car window that had stuck with me seconds ago.

Thirty minutes prior: My parents had recently surprised me with a pastel pink bicycle for my birthday, my first “big girl” bicycle without training wheels, and I was dying to ride around town on it. So after a lot of begging and convincing my parents, they finally agreed to let me ride my new present if I promised to be back home before they left for work and, with the exception that I would have to go with my older sister because, “Beta, you are still too young.” Unaffected by the rules, I excitedly put on my shoes, took out my bicycle, and was ready to pedal away, but my father stopped me in my tracks, went into the garage, and pulled out my matching purple helmet. “But Papa, nobody wears a helmet; it’s just not cool,” I explained. But my father contested, “Safety is always cool. If you want to go, you have to wear the helmet; it’s the law,” while simultaneously buckling and tightening the ugly, clunky helmet on my head as I made a fuss and had an angry look on my face. “Ok, but that’s all. There are no knee pads,” I exclaimed as I rode away as quickly as I could before he grabbed anything else that may make me look “uncool.”

As I slowly forced my eyes open now, I stared directly into the blaring sun and faced the sky. Turning a little to the left, I saw my new shiny pink bike underneath a black car—my bicycle’s leather seat torn up, the wheels bent, my matching bike bell broken, and purple plastic pieces from my helmet scattered around. I closed my eyes and blacked out.

All I heard for the next few hours were a series of noises. The blaring music from the car finally shutting down, my sister frantically searching for help – asking the person who hit me to lend his phone to call my parents, the shoes of people running towards me, buttons dialing 911, sirens of the police and ambulance, my mom running up next to me begging me to “not fall asleep,” with tears streaming down her face, hoping this isn’t the last breath I take, the squeaking of the stretcher opening and eventually arriving at the hospital to undergo multiple tests.

1.6 million crashes are caused annually by drivers using cell phones or texting, and I’ve become part of this statistic. This man who had hit me was distracted on a phone call with blasting music in the background, making me part of this number that defined the next few months of my life. During the summer, when I should’ve been enjoying ice cream at the beach, I found myself consumed with fractures, bruises, headaches, limping, and blunt force trauma.

I had joined a harrowing statistic—one of the 1.6 million crashes caused annually by distracted drivers using cell phones. The man who hit me was on a phone call, his music blasting in the background, and in a split second, my summer transformed into months of fractures, bruises, and painful physical therapy.

At the ripe age of ten, I faced the harsh reality of distracted driving. What started as excitement over my birthday gift became a sobering lesson in the fragility of life. Yet, it also became a powerful catalyst for change in how I view safety.

Driver’s education is essential because it equips young drivers with the knowledge to prevent tragedies like mine. At that moment, my father’s insistence on me wearing a helmet saved my life. The ugly, clunky helmet I had complained about had absorbed the force of the impact, protecting my skull from shattering. Without it, I wouldn’t be here writing this.

I carried these lessons with me when I began my journey behind the wheel years later. I learned that safety isn’t just about following the rules; it’s about understanding the responsibility we have for others’ lives and our own. I believe driver’s education needs to go beyond teaching parallel parking or road signs—it must address distracted driving head-on.

Imagine if every driver had to experience the visceral impact of distraction firsthand. Schools could set up driving simulators, creating scenarios where students navigate a course while peers try to distract them with text messages or loud noises. As I learned on that summer day, a simple moment of lost focus can change lives forever.

Social media could amplify these lessons. Platforms like TikTok and Instagram could host challenges, encouraging young drivers to “disconnect” and share how they safely store their phones while driving. Collaborations with influencers could create a ripple effect, normalizing safe habits and stigmatizing distractions. Alongside highways, billboards should remind drivers to be safe and give bold statistics on deaths caused by distracted driving. These eye-catching signs, especially on the roads, will not only remind drivers to be more cautious but also allow children in the car to learn and understand when they become drivers.

Lastly, car manufacturers can also innovate. Imagine if newer models restricted audio volume to safe decibel levels or disabled phone connectivity while the car was in motion. Technology is part of the problem but can also be a crucial part of the solution.

The crash that left my bike mangled and me scarred taught me that the most minor decisions—like wearing a helmet or setting your phone aside—can mean the difference between life and death. If these lessons could be integrated into driver’s education and become second nature for every driver, perhaps fewer families would endure the pain mine did.

Distractions while driving may seem harmless—a glance at a phone, a favorite song turned up too loud—but they can instantly derail lives. Let’s commit to creating a world where no child lies motionless on hot gravel, their bike broken beneath a car. Safety, after all, is always “cool.”