A Small Distraction: A Heavy Cost

I remember how the seatbelt dug into my skin the day I crashed my car. It shielded me, using every part of its screaming body to keep me from becoming a ragdoll; but its claws also sunk into my chest, squeezing my heart until there was no breath left for it to grasp, hugging it so tight its beats became too fast to feel. I remember the paralyzing shock that swam through my body, placing all thoughts on hold as I watched my car’s front end fly up like a bird with shattered wings. I remember the futile struggle of the key in the ignition, just trying to move— my ghostly hand twisting the key over and over, my ears listening to the engine’s moan of agony.

It’s been a couple months, but the crash still burns in my mind every time I get behind the wheel. No one got seriously hurt, something I’m eternally grateful for, and most of the damage was done to my car, not the people I hit. The two people— a husband and wife— were very kind, despite my recklessness being what caused them trouble. In the end, things got resolved in the best way possible; I got off without losing my license, and nobody had to go to the hospital. But that doesn’t change the facts of what I did; I crashed, and I very well could have hurt someone, killed someone, just as easily as I didn’t. All I really did differently was get lucky. And for what? What, exactly, almost cost loving parents their lives?

Country music.

I looked down at the radio to change the station, didn’t see the car ahead of me stopping, totaled my car and almost became a murderer, all because I hated country music.

Now, obviously, the reason I crashed wasn’t actually because I hated country music; it was because I let myself become distracted by that, but that is exactly why I think driver education is so vital. People never realize how much attention the little things they do to make the drive easier, faster, or more ‘enjoyable’ takes. Even looking down to change the station of the radio, or skipping a song on Spotify, takes multiple seconds of life-saving focus on the road ahead. When you think of a murderer’s motives, you think about the worst forms of cruelty, but when it comes to driving accidents, being distracted by an interesting shop sign outside the car window is enough. Teaching students about just how quickly something so small can cause deaths on the road— not just looking at your phones— is one of the keys in helping reduce accidents. Painting the vast effects of letting your mind wander, even for just a moment while driving, showing us the tragedy that can occur from it will make us come face-to-face with the reality of driving; every time we get the road, others lives are in our hands. Driving is a privilege, a dangerous one, and it’s something we as humans cannot afford to lose control of. I write and tell others about my crash, how it happened, the stupid reason why it happened, in hopes of sending out a clear warning of just how life-taking a distraction on the road can be. It’s the least I can do, for those two kind people who hugged me as I sobbed weakened ‘sorry’s, when I could have so easily taken their lives.

Since that day, I have changed. While I still make mistakes, I drive with empathy. I don’t— I won’t— let anything take my eyes off the road, let anything make me lose that grip on the wheel that holds the weight of hundreds of others livelihoods. That trade— akid, a baby, a husband, a wife— over a country song isn’t worth it in any universe, and people need to know that that trade is put on the table every time a person pulls their car out of park.

Driver education is not just a program to learn how to drive, it’s the piece of insurance that protects someone from becoming a murderer. It ensures as few people as possible to have to feel the claws of a seatbelt. It ensures as few people as possible to feel that shock rattling through their bones, their eyes burning with the smoke that flames from the front engine. And most importantly, it ensures no one, no one, loses their life, their dreams, their futures, because you hated a song.