The Ice-cream Collision

Driver’s education is fundamental to protecting not only our own lives but also the lives of others, our neighbors, children, mothers, and sisters. Unfortunately, it’s an aspect of life that too many of us tend to overlook. Many believe it’s simply “common sense,” but statistics tell a different story. According to surveys, 73 percent of Americans rate themselves as “above average” drivers, fully confident in their skills. That means 8 out of 10 people you meet think they’re exceptionally good at driving. However, opinions aren’t always accurate. A separate study revealed that 114 fatal car crashes happen every single day in the United States, one fatality roughly every minute. This excludes accidents that result in hospitalization or near-fatal injuries. Car accidents are the third leading cause of death for American adults and the leading cause for teenagers and adolescents. This highlights the importance of drivers ed, a crucial element that must be implicated into society.

As a community, there are many ways we can reduce driving-related deaths, starting with promoting safe driving habits in schools and defensive driving courses. By incorporating this education into our local schools, we can raise awareness about the importance of defensive driving. Many young people avoid driving school at age 16, opting to wait until they’re “of age” to avoid the cost. As a result, they miss out on essential training, which is critical to maintaining safety on the roads. Better awareness is indeed needed and too many people rely on news outlets, which only cover a fraction of the actual accidents within their areas. Though news outlets can’t broadcast every car crash, we can raise awareness within the community. Billboards and posters outside of bars, encouraging people to take an Uber, can serve as constant reminders. Promoting designated drivers and safe alternatives when under the influence can also make a pivotal difference.

Two years ago, two days before Thanksgiving, I was in a near-fatal car accident. The car that hit us was illegally passing through an intersection, and we were sideswiped. Our truck was t-boned, and the jaws of life had to be used to rescue the driver of the car that hit us. I remember the sticky white residue of a newly bought ice cream cone. Not the kind of sticky you can wipe off easily, but the kind that clings to your skin. It was all over the windshield, my dad’s old Ford F-150 dashboard, and my dad’s bleeding head. I could hear the screeching tires on the rough pavement moments before the crash.

I thought something like this could never happen to me. Reaching to unbuckle my seatbelt, I noticed the sound of a car horn blaring, a loud, persistent noise I hadn’t fully registered until then. I turned to my left, and my dad was out of the truck, later learned that he had gone to help the people in the car we collided with. I couldn’t breathe, frozen with fear. And then I heard something that made my stomach drop.

“Mommy, Mommy” one little girl, no older than 5, screeching for her mother to hold her. You could hear the terror in the kid’s voice, the sound of desperateness, of fear. Sometimes I still dream about that sound, it haunts me to this day. As I crawled over the middle console and out of our disoriented truck, it felt as if my world turned on its axis. Now when I look back at it, I only remember what seems like slideshows of events, little flashes of moments in time.

I never saw anyone covered in blood before, of course when you see it in movies you can’t believe that something like that would happen in real life. Movies don’t scar someone, it’s real life that does. But there I was standing in the middle of the intersection hearing the car still blaring its alarm, glass shattered beneath my feet, and the traffic light pole that had been hit by the other car came plummeting down, just missing the car. I could hear the distinct sound of police sirens drawing near, and there I was witnessing that little girl’s sister get carried out of a smashed white car. You couldn’t even tell what her skin color was even if you tried, you couldn’t tell what her hopes and dreams were and you couldn’t even hear her cry. I felt like a statue, one that couldn’t move, my bones were as stiff as metal, I couldn’t get air in, I couldn’t get it out.

This experience opened my eyes to the importance of driver education. Since then, I’ve written research essays and used my platform as a Hispanic first-generation college student to spread awareness, especially in my home state of New Mexico, where the issue is often overlooked. While New Mexico’s population and its minorities are frequently ignored, I believe even small efforts can go a long way. By raising awareness and being an example for younger generations, we can all promote a safer driving environment for everyone on the road.