drivers ed

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that we shouldn't start behind-the-wheel until the kids are old enough to actually see over the wheel. You figured Kooka would be at least 16 before she rolled a vehicle. I know what you're thinking because I was thinking the exact same thing until about 4:00 this afternoon. That is when Pa (Grandpa/my dad) decided to teach Kooka to drive.

I left both kids with Pa, so I could go help Gramma at the Care Center. He was in his apartment showing the kids his new rascal scooter - it helps him, and his two broken feet get around town. I come back 10 minutes later to find Punk, standing alone in front of Pa's apartment building. He immediately says, "Don't worry Mom. Everything is fine. Pa is letting us drive his scooter." Then he points directly behind me.

I turn to see Kooka, sitting on Pa's lap, steering down the parkway. She reaches up to wave to me, taking both hands off the wheel. Pa, busted foot on the gas pedal, realizes they'e heading for the curb, and grabs the handles to correct it. Kooka does a double take, and realizing she's let go, grabs the handles and yanks them back the other way. Pa is shifting his weight trying desperately to keep the thing upright - but it's no use.

The two of them tumble into the middle of the road, taking the scooter with them. They are both lying underneath it. For a second I'm in shock - I mean, these things are made for old people, people who can't walk - they don't come with roll bars or helmets, they max out at 8mph - they're not supposed to flip like that. (Then again I don't think you're supposed to be going top-speed with a pre-schooler at the wheel.) It's only when I hear Punk gasping, that I realize I've left my diabetic-heart patient-broken footed father, not to mention my four year old baby girl, pinned under a small vehicle in the middle of the road. By the time I start to run, an EMT pulls up behind me. She happened to be driving by, and she's moving a lot faster than I am.

Thankfully the scooter is light. Kooka's leg is scraped up, and her elbow is bloody and bruised pretty badly. Pa took a worse hit. In his attempt to protect her, he ripped the skin off of his elbow, part of his knee, and his shoulder isn't moving quite right. But he is laughing and he says, "Wow Kooka! That was quite an adventure! We'll remember that forever."

Through quiet, jerky tears she whispers, "I am already trying to forget it."
She reluctantly agrees to ride with Pa back to the apartment where they compare their matching wounds. Twenty kisses, 13 hugs, half a tube of Bacatracin and two stories later, they are both a bit calmer.

Punk seems pretty impressed that they lived to tell the tale, and willingly offers to illustrate the action, so both of them can see "how funny/scary/cool" it looked.

You know, this isn't the first time my dad's been thrown from a moving vehicle, and certainly not the first time someone in my family has been responsible. (If you've ever heard the shotgun, hood of the car, North Dakota story - you know what I mean.) But you have to wonder why he sets himself up like that. He either really loves us, or has a death wish - a very painful, bloody, bone cracking death wish.