Dad & I had the church song service together at
Castle Hill SDA Church. I woke up late, reading as
usual the night before, and Dad had already gone to get the projector &
stuff ready. We had discussed earlier if we'd play guitar, but it was either
two guitars or none (neither of us were good enough to play alone) and we only
had one, so that meant none!
Anyway, there I was at home, and Mum had come back from church to get
me in Dad's car, his beautiful white 1985 Toyota Corolla Seca. In those days the Corolla Seca was a sports car - it was the
one of the first high-volume twin cams - 1.8 litres of free-revving fun - and
it could take a big, fat, V8 HRT Commodore at the lights without even trying
very hard. Dad had finally gotten a job that supplied a company car you see,
so even though we were really poor as church mice, in
those heady days of no Fringe Benefits Tax, a company car was something you
could invest a little creativity in.
I begged her to let me drive back (on my Learner's Permit) to church
knowing that Dad would never have, and knowing I could pressure Mum into
letting me drive if I tried really hard.
There we are, driving up towards the corner where you take the lights right
to the church. We're all dressed up, we're
slightly late, Mum is panicking (as she still does when I drive for some
reason). And the lights turn yellow. And I'm waiting correctly a short distance
into the intersection for a break in traffic. The lights are yellow for a
long time. A car approaches the lights coming towards us - it's very late
yellow and I think "They'll stop". Mum, although she'll deny it, said "It's
turning red" or "Go" or something. Actually she probably said "Ururgheieu",
the same panicking noise Nana makes in traffic just before she says "Daddy
Daddy Daddy!" to Paapie. You can unfailingly get a laugh in my family by
imitating Nana doing this, by the way.
The next two paragraphs happen in about 3 seconds.
So I pull out in front of this slowing down car that's still miles
back from very yellow lights to make a right turn, blinkers on, all correct.
And at that exact same time the driver of the other car (it was a Toyota
Tarago with a big 80's bullbar from memory - all angles and crappy
brakes) decides to put her foot down to get through the almost-red lights in
a hurry.
This next paragraph takes place in about half a second,
included in the 3 seconds I indicated above.
Mum grabs my arm. I see what's happening and completely stop the
Seca - it has excellent brakes. I figure out that this other car, which has
now put on its brakes, is going to hit us. I reach down and turn our engine
off, pull the handbrake on and take my hands off the wheel and my feet off
the pedals. I don't want the shock of the accident to come through the wheel
& pedals into my wrists and ankles.
The Tarago takes
about 14 hours to cross the last 2 metres to the front of the Seca and then
CRUMP.
End the three seconds.
Time goes fast again and glass flies; after a stunned moment the Tarago backs
up and turns the corner, getting out of the stream of traffic; I find that our
car can still drive, I drive it around the corner. Mum is silent. I suggest that
she walks down and gets Dad - she says I have to go and she'll talk to the woman
in the Tarago. Neither of us are that keen to face Dad.
So I walk down to church. We're not late after all. Dad is down the front
preparing, and he smiles up at me - glad to see I've arrived.
"Um, Dad, I've crashed the car."
Time slows down again, not quite as slow this time, it only takes 25 minutes
or so for Dad to swallow and say
"Is Mum ok?"
I could have kissed him. Honestly! What a perfect thing to say! I resolved
then and there that no matter what circumstances beleaguered me in my future
life that I would always always ask that question before any others. You see we
do learn things from our parents. Good things too, sometimes.
We walked quietly back to Dad's wonderful little sports car, now with its
bonnet folded in half. I can't remember if the Tarago woman was still there -
I think she was. We exchanged details and then walked back down to do the song
service.
Before one of the songs (I think it was the second one) I couldn't be silent
any longer about what had happened (I certainly wasn't being silent leading the
singing!). I think the song was "Abba, Father" or something corny like that.
I said,
"I'd just like to say something about fathers. I just crashed Dad's car on
the way to church here to take the song service and although it was my fault he
hasn't said a harsh word to me and I know it isn't just because we have the song
service and I just wanted to say that I love my father."
Or words to that effect. I may have said less and I may have said more but
that's certainly what I meant to say. Dad smiled and people thought we had a
wonderful family, and you know what, sometimes we did.