The Power of a Story

My parents probably assumed I was asleep and truthfully, I should have been. It was after 2 a.m. when I heard a slow and deliberate knock at our front door. I watched silently from my bedroom as the silhouette of two uniformed policemen filled the door frame. My weary parents made no attempt to hide their frustration and confusion at being roused and the soft but ominous tone of the officers’ questions made the exchange even more agonizing. Eventually came some version of: “I am sorry, but there’s been an accident.” After that was a blur. A torrid mix of anguish, physical pain, and a dull aching as I cried myself to sleep. Early the next morning, my parents sat me down and told me that my grandfather-my hero, was dead. A 17-year-old girl out for a drive with her friends collided with his motorcycle just a couple minutes from his home. I was quiet. I was holding on to a quiet hope that the previous night had been a twisted dream or a movie I could simply pause and rewind. Maybe if I didn’t acknowledge it, my parents wouldn’t either and the world would go on with my grandfather still by my side. In my head, I begged them to take back their words.

I didn’t know it, but over the years my mother kept in contact with one of the officers who came to our home. Like my grandfather, his name was also Steve. From time to time, Officer Steve would check in on us and even provide updates about the driver. As painful as the accident was for my family, my mother knew that there was another family out there suffering with different variety of grief. When the accident happened, the driver was a high school senior enjoying the excitement and perpetual promise of a bright life. The accident shattered that promise. When I began my driving safety course, one of many parental requirements before getting my drivers’ license, my mother sat me down and retold the accident story with more detail and emphasis than any time before.

I had no idea that the young driver received her license on the last day I saw my grandfather alive. Just a couple of days later, her older brother let her borrow his SUV and she picked up a few friends for a late-night ice cream run. My grandfather, who had a wicked sweet tooth, had a similar idea. He was likely headed home on his motorcycle after grabbing a quick treat. He probably anticipated her sudden acceleration before the crash because he swerved to avoid a direct collision as she sped out of the ice cream shop parking lot. He was a conscientious driver whether on four wheels or two, but that did not stop the SUV from crushing his body. He died in front of four traumatized teenage girls in the middle of the road. According to my mother, more than likely the driver had been checking text messages in that critical 3-5 seconds after starting the ignition and pulling out of her parking spot. That brief moment of distraction ended one life and forever transformed two families.

Now, I am the 17-year-old high school senior full of promise and hope for the future. The lessons from my mother and even the young driver, are forever with me and I’ve committed myself to exercise my driving privilege safely and responsibly. However, we need to do a better job of telling more of the 43,000 annual stories- like my grandfather’s and the young driver. Because of my family history, I understand the consequences of distracted driving but too many others view rules against that kind of dangerous conduct as superfluous. Roadside flowers, gimmicky slogans and social media campaigns are not as impactful as hearing a personal story- and there are more than enough stories like mine to go around. I would love to see Driver License study guides include more than questions about road signs and rear-view mirrors. Imagine if a new driver had to read my personal story because their exam might ask just one question about the snack the young driver had gotten with her friends. Perhaps anytime someone entered a DMV, in addition to taking a numbered ticket they were also handed a copy of the young driver’s account of how she struggled through high school graduation and prom with the weight of the world hanging over her. Or maybe, when someone received a D.W.I., they not only had to pay a fine or serve a sentence, but they were also required to meet with a grieving survivor. Effective story telling can play a critical role in communicating the “why” behind safe driving habits and emphasize the importance of following all safe driving laws and rules. I suspect the process of applying for this scholarship intentionally uses the power of personal stories to keep safety top of mind for hundreds or thousands of young drivers like me. Ultimately, moving people toward safer driving is an exercise in empathy. Connecting with real stories from both drivers and survivors is a way to tie together our hearts and heads every time we assume the awesome responsibility of operating a vehicle.