Sometimes life's lessons come in very unexpected - and even unwelcome - ways.
I am with three of the kids at an out-of-town soccer tournament for one of the girls. As we arrived this morning, we did our usual routine of emptying the trunk and divvying up water bottles, chairs, balls and umbrella parts. We were a little early, so we made our way to a shady spot and half-heartedly watched one of the games in progress. It was an exciting game, but our attention was quickly drawn to one of the moms on the sideline. I started wondering if I looked like she did when I'm cheering for my kids. Whenever her child's team would near the goal, her arms would fly into the air and stay there until the goal was scored (or not). She would lean back in her chair to the point of nearly falling, and let out a scream that would either express her joy at the point or her frustration at the miss. It was obvious that she was pretty immersed in the action on the field.
Soon, my youngest discovered the snack stand, and our focus was taken from the game and the excited mom. I had left my money in the car, so I made a deal with the two non soccer playing kids...if they would run to the car and get the cash, I would let them buy a treat. So, off they ran, only to return a few minutes later with shock on their faces and panic in their voices. 'Mom!', my daughter exclaimed, 'some truck hit our car and there is glass everywhere and our car is crooked!' In disbelief, I followed them back to the parking lot, where I was met with a scene that immediately brought anger into my heart. I had parked my small car neatly in a parking stall when I arrived. Now, in the stall where my car had been, there was a mid-sized Toyota truck. It appeared to have backed into the stall and right into the bumper of my car, pushing the car nearly all the way out of its original stall and crookedly into the one in front. The only part of the car that was still in the stall where it started was the rear end that was wedged underneath the bumper of the truck.The impact was such that the red plastic from the tail light had flown through the air and come to a rest at near the driver's side door. I could not fathom that someone could go through a collision like this and then just get out of the car and go watch a soccer game like nothing happened. Had they been drinking? How could he or she be so irresponsible?
By this time, the rest of my daughter's team was arriving in the parking lot. The crash became the center of activity. Parents sent their children with the coach to begin warming up for the game, and a few moms stayed behind to lend me some moral support. They were nearly as angry as I was at the nerve of someone causing so much damage and just walking away. They encouraged me to call the police, which I did after having an inner dialogue that went something like this: I hate to call the police and cause trouble for someone. I'm sure it was just an accident. But even if it WAS an accident, this guy had to have been off his rocker to just walk away like that. What if he's in an altered state of mind and is a danger to society?
Minutes later the police officer on his motorcycle arrived. I explained that my car had once been where the truck now was. I showed him the broken plastic near the driver's side door. I used my children as witnesses to emphasize that this was in fact where we had parked. As we were talking, the owner of the truck and his family walked up and asked, incredulously, what had happened to their truck. I couldn't believe the audacity that this man had to be able to pretend he didn't know what happened. My level of disgust was rising exponentially with each word that came out of his mouth. He said that he was positive that he had parked there, and that my silver car was nowhere around when he did. The police officer was thoroughly confused. In all of his years investigating accidents, he told us, this one had him stumped. Both of our stories seemed plausible, and he could not decide who was at fault.
It seemed that the mess would go unsolved, and that my anger would remain. And then, walking towards us, there she was. The mom from the sidelines at the game we had been watching earlier. The one that we couldn't help but notice. And also, the wife of the man whose truck was wedged onto my car. In that instant, the realization that the accident could not be their fault flooded over me. They could not have backed into my car because they had arrived before me. I brought this to the attention of the investigating officer, and suddenly, the direction of the investigation changed course. With no skid marks from my tires, it soon became apparent that my car was the one that had been in motion. But what happened? The officer looked over the body of my car to see if an impact from another vehicle had pushed my car into the truck. Nothing. The officer asked if he could look inside my car, and I obliged. It only took seconds for this mystery to be solved. The emergency brake was off. The car was in neutral. The parking stall that I was positive that I had parked in was an entire row away from where I had actually parked. This disaster was 100% completely and utterly MY fault.
The owner of the truck graciously told me that my car didn't do any damage that wasn't already there, and that he wasn't upset at all. He didn't feel it necessary to complete a police report, and he wished me well. He was an incredibly nice man. So nice, in fact, that I felt it necessary to stop him before he left the parking lot. 'I'm so SO sorry for the anger I felt towards you.' I explained that I spent more than a few minutes actually hating him. 'No worries', he said. 'It wouldn't be the first time someone hated me.'
Turns out, I learned more than one lesson from the debacle this morning. First, I learned that I might need to tone down the sideline antics during my kids' sporting events, lest I should draw some unwanted attention. Next, I learned that people are good. What was already a mess could have turned into a disaster of Herculean proportion had the owner of the truck not been so understanding. And the final, and most important, lesson was that I should never EVER judge without knowing all the facts. This probably wasn't the first time that I've passed blame that belonged to me onto someone else.
Long after the tail light has been replaced and the dents repaired, I will carry the lessons of this day close to my heart. What a blessing it turned out to be.
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