The Day Humor Dies

The Day Humor Dies

I am a silly person, and I love to play harmless pranks on my friends. The most dastardly: placing fake apples in their bags when they aren’t looking. I’m always laughing and joking, you’d think I’m always happy. And I am, for the most part, except on one day a year: April Fool’s Day.

It was just before dawn, and I was driving to school. I was fifteen, still six months away from getting my license, and I was just learning how to be comfortable on the road. My dad was in the passenger seat.

There was a hulking log truck in front of us at the intersection. It cast a cold shadow over my little sedan in the new sunlight. We were stopped at the light, so I knew it was red, but I couldn’t see the light change to green.

I think you see where I’m going with this.

The log truck turned (it wasn’t in a turn lane), and I drove forward, noticing halfway through that the light was yellow. Then red. It was another little mistake. I’d made a million at this point. Hey, I was a new driver. I couldn’t be expected to remember every rule. Turns out, not driving through a red light is a pretty important rule.

Let me tell you, having your car be hit with another feels exactly like being hit with a bumper car. There was a metal crunch. We spun. I pulled the emergency brake and fell forward, terrible thoughts running through my head. Adrenaline fogging my brain. Did that seriously just happen?

My dad and I got out with only a few bruises, as did the guy who hit me, thankfully, thankfully, thankfully. Both cars were totaled. Talking to the police was fine, telling the story to the insurance company was okay, even pulling myself together in the school bathroom, telling myself to stop crying because I needed to go to class, trying to stop my hands and jaw shaking… even that wasn’t so bad compared to when I had to tell my sister that I’d ruined her car. That was when I had to own up to it. This wasn’t some prank; it was me. I was a dumb, fifteen-year-old kid who thought I knew everything, and it was all my fault.

The terrible thing is, my story isn’t unique. I could tell you dozens of stories just like it from friends my age. Kayla, whose car was crippled by a drunk driver. Sierra, who was driven off the highway. Adrian, who was hit crossing the street and walks with a cane now. All victims of distracted driving.

It took me a while to bounce back without reliving the crash. I was overcome with guilt, thinking of the damage I could have caused. People could have died because of me. It’s hard to think of yourself as a good person after that. So, I overcompensated a little. I couldn’t muster the strength to act light-hearted, so I baked cookies for people just to give them something to smile about. Eventually, I started to feel more comfortable with myself, and ease back into familiarity.

I’m the laid-back, class clown type, but I stick to the rules of the road. I use my turn signals, I keep my lights on, and I check my blindspot like it’s a concerning mole. I drive through that intersection every day, and I see countless driving mistakes. Heck, I still make driving mistakes, but I try. I never want to spin into traffic again.

That’s why it tears me apart when I see people driving while on their phone. When people say they don’t need to take Driver’s Ed. They don’t know. They haven’t had to pull themselves out of the dark, spiraling guilt that comes with making one mistake at the wrong time. They haven’t lived with the consequences of one misspent glance. I don’t want them to.

364 days out of the year, I pull pranks, crack jokes, and live life to make others smile. Not on April Fool’s Day. On the anniversary of my crash, I sit vigil for the people who weren’t as lucky as me.

Teenagers can be stupid, believe me, so we need all the help we can get. We need to be taught, and taught well. And we need to listen to the lectures telling us to, “be safe.” I know us; we don’t like listening to adults, but we do listen to the people we are casual with. Our peers. Our friends. The people we laugh and joke with. When those people are serious, we know something is wrong.

I listen to my friends. I drive sober for Kayla. I stay in the lines for Sierra. I stop at crosswalks for Adrian. And I brake for yellow lights for all the people I could have hurt.

I propose a day where we break casualty and cut through humor. A day where students who have been in car crashes hold eye contact and say to their friends, “No. This is serious.” And I propose that day to be April Fool’s Day. April is already Distracted Driving Awareness month. Let this be our day to show people how quickly your life can change, and how quickly humor can die. Because car accidents are kind of a bummer, and if people don’t see that, things will never change.