Spring Break
Expect the unexpected
Finding help in those times when you feel really lost
Issue date: 7/1/09 Section: Opinion
As a self-classified wildly independent person, I make sure that I am always able to help myself, and I detest asking for anyone else's assistance. This is a fault, I am aware, but it's just who I am. So, instances in which I am helpless stick out in my mind above most other things. So far, there have only been two instances that I can remember in which I was truly helpless. In both of these situations, people completely unexpected pulled me through.
When I was 16, I drove a '99 silver Toyota Corolla, which I fondly named "Throckmorton." One weekend, I was left with my then 9-year-old brother and 14-year-old sister, while my mother went out of town for work and my father took an extra shift at his job. Being a 16-year-old, and thus having an aversion to pots, pans and the oven, I decided to take my siblings out to dinner. On the way back, we crossed over a busy intersection and BANG. A huge, black Suburban came at me from the left, turning Throckmorton into a glorified, crunched-up Coke can.
I promptly unbuckled my little brother, who was screaming like a banshee in the backseat, and helped my sister out of the car. I had no idea what to do. My mother was in Montana and my father was an hour and a half away, and here I was standing in the middle of a Dallas intersection with two young children. The man who hit my car promptly ran to us, but not to help, to scream. I attempted to explain to this red-faced man that I had not done anything wrong, and he had turned left into the intersection without an arrow. But he would hear nothing of it. I was "a stupid, 16-year-old, blonde, bimbo that didn't know what she was talking about."
Right as I was about to go against all instincts (and physical capabilities) and sock this man in the face, I heard, "Excuse me sir, you need to leave these children alone." When I turned around, I saw a two people that I recognized, but did not know by name. They promptly called my parents, put my brother and sister in their mini van and put in a DVD for them, and helped me figure out insurance and talk to the police. After they made sure my car was towed away safely, they gave us a ride home. They turned out to be a couple from my church, who had simply recognized me and stopped to help.
When I was 16, I drove a '99 silver Toyota Corolla, which I fondly named "Throckmorton." One weekend, I was left with my then 9-year-old brother and 14-year-old sister, while my mother went out of town for work and my father took an extra shift at his job. Being a 16-year-old, and thus having an aversion to pots, pans and the oven, I decided to take my siblings out to dinner. On the way back, we crossed over a busy intersection and BANG. A huge, black Suburban came at me from the left, turning Throckmorton into a glorified, crunched-up Coke can.
I promptly unbuckled my little brother, who was screaming like a banshee in the backseat, and helped my sister out of the car. I had no idea what to do. My mother was in Montana and my father was an hour and a half away, and here I was standing in the middle of a Dallas intersection with two young children. The man who hit my car promptly ran to us, but not to help, to scream. I attempted to explain to this red-faced man that I had not done anything wrong, and he had turned left into the intersection without an arrow. But he would hear nothing of it. I was "a stupid, 16-year-old, blonde, bimbo that didn't know what she was talking about."
Right as I was about to go against all instincts (and physical capabilities) and sock this man in the face, I heard, "Excuse me sir, you need to leave these children alone." When I turned around, I saw a two people that I recognized, but did not know by name. They promptly called my parents, put my brother and sister in their mini van and put in a DVD for them, and helped me figure out insurance and talk to the police. After they made sure my car was towed away safely, they gave us a ride home. They turned out to be a couple from my church, who had simply recognized me and stopped to help.
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