Last night I scanned a large group of photos that I took from my parents house all through the years. I want some new kinds and a new style of posts in my blog to show what makes up the character I am now.This is a photo of the first car accident I had. It was when I was 16 and in my Pontiac Sunbird my aunt had sold to me. (I started working with I was 14 with a special work permit in Michigan around my school hours so at 16 I had money to buy a car from my family.)
The accident happened on the way back from when I was spray painting banners red and blue, for a pep rally in high school with the rest of the student council. (I was not always this model of turning debauchery into a living, oh no. There was a time when I fit into the stereotypical goody-goody top 10 of my high school class. ...and that too, was wonderful in it's time.)
This lady came out of the grocery store parking lot at an accelerated speed, hit the passenger side of my vehicle, flipped me over and sent me skidding 72 feet of oncoming traffic with my drivers side window to the cement to where I stopped on the opposite curb where they were building a bank.
That's why the silver scratches on the car in this photo, that was the part that slid on the cement and "rubbed" off the mirror and red paint. It was crazy.
The officer and everyone involved said it was amazing that all I got was a scratch, especially when if I looked out of my drivers side window I would see pavement sliding by. Literally, all that happened to me was I got a friggin' rug burn on my elbow. I was a little traumatized, but nothing that lasted just a short time. I know people who don't want to drive after an accident.
The red bird (...which was a name they called Robin from Batman and Robin as well. *wink*) was totaled and had to be taken away on a flatbed truck. This photo was taken at the junkyard when I said goodbye and said hello to my favorite car I have had, a drak grey Buick LaSabre. (...that is until I had the Toyota Tundra that was as big as my apartment in LA this past weekend in New Orleans, now that is my favorite car.)
The nice retired English teacher who hit me with her dark green Grand Marquis ended up getting a ticket, several if I remember correctly.
Later on, she apparently fought the ticket and I had to go to court as a witness on the part of the state and she obviously lost. She wasn't suing me though, it was the state she was contesting.
I remember that my dad made me drive home from the accident even though I was a crying fool. He's a good dad, now that I see why. It kills me when I see children that are born to families who don't care when my family cares enough for six.
I do think that the accident had a little effect on me, when Rusty and I head down to the parking garage to get in the car, I look at it as a responsibility. I don't "want" to drive. It's the means to ends and I feel like I have to, so I can and will. When I have the choice (...which don't we just about always have a choice?) I prefer for someone else to drive. (...and not just drive me crazy, I can do that myself. *wink*) I say little effect because I think that it's just convenient for me to say it was that accident. It's probably much more that I am just lazy and shirk at responsibility when I can that is at the root of that there deal folks. *sigh*
