An Accident Is An Accident Until It's Not

My father, being male, loves sport cars and actually let me drive the one he had when I was in high school. I called the car Floyd. Sometimes. It was fab and all the boys were jealous. I still can’t believe my mother allowed it. One day KB and I were out driving somewhere and we got lost. I backed the car up over the curb and heard something awful. Venturing to find out what it was, I found a large, long scratch along the bumper. A fairly bright white scratch in green paint. I could have cried.

I decided to wait until he said something.

He never did.

A few years later he sold the car.

“Dad, did you ever see that big scratch?”

“Hmmm?”

“On the left side near the light?”

“I did that.”

All that sweating to find out Dad had done it himself. Unbelievable. It makes total sense though. I drove over a curb, not into something sharp 2 ft off the ground. Hey, are you always logical during times of high anxiety?