This is not the car, but it's very like the car.
One summer afternoon when my little son was four years old, I took a quick shower while the children were playing in the front yard. The older two were 8 and 10, and the neighbor kids were out there too, about the same ages, with the youngest five years old.
My shower was interrupted by alarmed shouts from my daughter, "Mommy, mommy, they crashed the car!"
I wrapped myself in I can't remember what and rushed down the steps and outside. The car was not where it had been parked, but down the sloped driveway and backed into a large and solid maple tree. My little redheaded boy and his five-year old brunette friend stood on the front seat crying, and a hysterical older neighbor child was running in circles, wailing.
The children were all ok. Scared to death, but uninjured, un-run-over, un-bruised and un-wrenched. My four year old son and his little girl friend had been playing "going for a drive" in the car, and my son had dislodged the automatic gearshift from Park into Neutral. The massive car had rolled down the hill backward and slammed into the tree hard enough to make a serious dent in the very solid back bumper (cars had them in those days).
As the neighbor kids went home to tearfully inform their mother, I herded my own kids into the house and checked for injuries. My little boy could not be comforted. He cried and cried.
When he finally could hiccup some words he said, "Do we have to tell Daddy?"
(Aha! It was guilt and fear of consequences that was on his mind, not injury. )
"Of course we have to tell Daddy."
Long silence.
"Well, can we call Daddy at work on the phone?"
(Aha! It was a paddling he was worried about-- and Daddy could not reach his fanny if we told him on the phone.)
Well, we called Daddy and got that over with, and then called the insurance company and answered, while shaking the head in disbelief, the serious questions:
Who was the driver? Driver's license number?......("my son, 4; no license")
Were there any passengers? Name? Address?.....("neighbor, 5, across the street")
Destination?...............................("pretend driving")
What direction were they going on what route?...("backward; own driveway")
Were there witnesses? Were the police notified? Etc.
For me, it was a wild mixture of shock, relief, regret that I had not been on the scene, regret about our habit of leaving off the emergency brake, fear that the "passenger's" parents would go ballistic, a measure of bemusement at the very weird insurance interview, and frank amazement at my son's swiftness in designing a strategy to avoid punishment.
Well, Daddy, of course, did come home after work. I don't remember, and my son probably doesn't remember whether there was a paddling. The neighbors forgave us. The big Mercury lived out its life with a tree trunk shaped indentation in its back bumper. Maybe that was a sort of pay-back for the fingers-in-door incident. I was so glad to see that car get traded in.
Note: My son is an excellent driver now. In his town it is illegal to park without using the hand brake, thank goodness. He has children of his own.
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