Deep Thoughts

Or not. Maybe just thoughts.

As I was driving toward St. George on Saturday night after a satisfying trip to Lavell Edwards Stadium, I found myself thinking again. Nick on my right and Josh behind me.

It was a good trip. I found myself wondering if my boys will remember this trip like I remember certain trips with my dad and brothers. And will they remember it fondly?

(I think I did a pretty good job of keeping Gollum in check.)



 We just were 3 boys having fun going to a football game; eating nachos and hot dogs and cougar tails. I just wanted it to be fun. I want them to have a happy memory.

This is Josh adding to his signature collection on his football. Ask him about...but only if you're prepared to spend the time listening. He loves to talk about it.





I tried to point out to them the beauty of the landscape we were speeding past in the dark. The beauty that you could only see because of the soft, white blanket covering the ground between Fillmore and Beaver. That blanket was reflect in a strong light radiating from the moon.

Part of me wished I could just pull over and enjoy looking at it for a little while. However, I didn't have any snacks or beverages in the car that would allow for a prolonged trip. But I imagined what it would be like in my mind.

My dad taught me to appreciate things like that. Hopefully, in those moment between the glowing screens in front of their faces, they truly caught a glimpse of it.

See, I had a birthday a little more than a week ago and I sort of had some sudden realizations that I am starting to not be that young any more. (Starting) My body tries to remind me of that now and then when my mind isn't so convinced.

I am having conversations about things with my kids and telling them it was 30 years ago. Really? Thirty years? It doesn't seem like it was that long ago, but 30 is kind of a big number looking back.

The boys did get to enjoy playing in the median of the freeway for a little more than an hour as we waited for this mess to get cleaned up the next morning just north of Valley of Fire. So, that's a memory, too.

The smoke is rising from the second of two accidents ahead of us.

If you look at this photo closely, life flight is just taking off.

This was the cause of the second accident.

That Time I Was Teaching Her to Drive

It wasn't planned.  Really, it just snuck up on us.  But...our oldest daughter was approaching 16 and needed some driving instruction. That job fell to Nicki.

The experience was so enjoyable for her and successful in generating happiness and goodwill with our daughter, that she felt...nay...she insisted that I should have the privilege of teaching the next one.

I was so grateful to her for allowing me the pleasure of having this experience.  I bordered on envy as I heard tales from each day when they would get back and Nicki would tell me how it went.  Such was the excitement that she could not keep her voice down while telling me.

I knew I could have the same blessed experience, plus, even do a better job teaching our next daughter.  I mean...obviously.  How many times have I backed into our neighbor's car or run into the side of our garage?  I can count them on zero (000) fingers.

Now, my hope is that - with the assistance of Google - I can lay this out in a pictorial, of sorts.  In order to apply for a driver's license, teens need 3.6 million hours of practice behind the wheel while having a learner's permit.  At least, that's what it feels like to them.  Then, after only 2 hours, it feels like it to the parents, as well.

Therefore, our daughter had the duty...even the honor of driving to school at 5:30 every morning.  The bonus is that she was accruing night-time hours, which are supposed to account for about 20% of the required permit driving.  Because...you know...it's still dark at that time.

We exited 95 southbound onto Las Vegas Blvd.  By this point, I had only been through one roll of Charmin since we left the house.  I had talked to her about how to maneuver the merge onto Las Vegas Blvd - using multiple senses (including Spidey Sense) to be aware of all the factors she would be encountering.

Of course, remember that it was dark - as in no sunlight. Here is what the oncoming street looks like (only dark...and no oncoming traffic - except for one car approaching beyond the overpass).

Using my calmest voice, I advised her to wait until the approaching vehicle passed.  Apparently, I used too calm of a voice, because she kept us moving into the lane (the vehicle approaching us in the left lane and now at the intersection behind us - shown below right).

At this point, my voice became, oh, shall we say, a little less calm.  Also, she was now becoming more aware of the car approaching and less aware of what was required of her: namely, finishing the turn into the right lane and staying out of the way of that other car.

Did you happen to notice was was in front of us?  Because, suddenly, this was all I could see (without sunlight and the vehicle in front - you get that by now, right?):

Now, unable to use my calm voice, I could only use my "Holy Crap We Are Going To Die!" voice in an attempt to get her to turn into the left lane and not run onto the median and into the fence.

The approaching vehicle managed to miss us.  And we missed that iron fence by no more than 2 centimeters (for Americans, that means a very small distance); the left tire bounding up onto the median and then back off as she moved into the left lane.

I was completely out of Charmin by that point.

Yes, I know that she was as scared as I was.  And my yelling had not helped her any.  She wanted to stop the car right where we were and be done driving.  But now, it was time for me to find that calm voice again and cheerlead a little bit.

"It's okay, sweetie.  We are alive and you didn't run into the fence.  These things happen.  We learn from them and then do better the next time."

Straight out of the "Lies Parents Say" Handbook.  It's funny how you never get a chance to read it, but the lies come so easily when you need them.

I suppose they come easy because of how much we love them.  We want to protect and build them up.  Sometimes, that means coloring in the truth just a little bit.

Don't Drive Angry

Although, in my case, it may be better to say, "Just don't drive."

Apparently, I am a much higher-risk driver than I thought I was. I don't drive recklessly. I don't speed (as much as others do). I am fairly cautious and pay attention to my surroundings. I don't follow too closely (if the driver in front of me didn't just cut me off). And I don't text while driving (fast).

Yet, My Precious:


Of course, you should see her car:

I am sure you can see the damage.

Look closely.

No? You are SO biased against victims of vehicular violence.

Bottom line: It doesn't matter. Highway Patrol was called to investigate. Thankfully, two units - 4 patrolmen - responded. And I'm not sure, but I think at least two of them were on work-release from Centennial High School. It was clearly a high-risk situation that needed back-up. Perhaps it was my BYU tie. They thought I was going to be too independent in my thinking.

(Oh come on, you knew I had to work it in sometime, right? I love the last paragraph of the release, by the way.)

I will be on the road between 5 and 5:30 this afternoon. I recommend you stay inside at that time. If that won't work for you, will you be my designated driver to get me home safely?

It's Called an Accident for a Reason

If you are having difficulty seeing the damage, that's because THERE ISN'T ANY. Okay, I apologize for shouting.

The most frustrating part is now waiting to see what the driver of the vehicle in front of me is going to claim happened to her. She called the accident in to Metro, but then decided she didn't want to wait, so she left.

This was not my fault. Yes, I ran into her (at about 2 miles per hour). You actually get hit harder from behind - and with less back and neck support - on Splash Mountain, Small World, Pirates of the Carribean or Grizzly Rapids, to name a few, than how hard I hit this car.

It was not my fault. Did I mention that? It's called an accident for a reason.

And, yes, she has made an injury and damage claim to my insurance company.