Choosing "Other"

Defying the event horizon

I was reading about the Revolutionary War to my kids one night when a man slammed his girlfriend’s Toyota Something-or-Other into the back of my truck. I was shocked to learn that he wasn’t drunk—he’d gone into a diabetic…coma, I believe. 

My oldest boy reminded me of that the other night. He swears that I was reading about “bombs bursting in air” when one went off below our bay window.

I admit it: I prayed that it wasn’t my truck, which means that I was really praying for it to be my neighbor’s truck. Then I said a little prayer of repentance for such self-absorption, but then split the difference and prayed that my neighbor would quickly find reasonable auto body repair shop. #compromise

It was my truck, though. The left-rear quadrant looked like a crumpled up wad of paper. The driver who hit me was in rough shape—he was slumped over the airbag, groggy, rambling, incoherent, already bruising up and down his face and forearms. The airbag saved his life, but it cost him.

The cops breathalyzed him. No booze. His mom and girlfriend showed up and confirmed that he was diabetic and could go into a coma if he didn’t get his meds on time.