Perfect Timing

Car accidents happen all the time. How often have you driven by a wreck and thought to yourself, "I'm glad that wasn't me?" How often have you regretted not stopping and lending a hand because you figured someone else would do it? We've all done it.

Yesterday afternoon I was riding my bike home from school when I came upon a fresh accident in the middle of a major intersection. Since I was on a bike, I figured the excuse of not having a place to pull over was irrelevant, so I pedaled on past the stopped up traffic and right into the middle of the scene. The accident had just occurred and there were no emergency vehicles in sight, so I and a few other passers by jumped into a action.

As I approached, I found four children in the street with a grandmother and another adult. Another witness was holding one of the infants, and a second infant was held by an adult who had been in the car. An older child was lying in the street wailing loudly and the grandmother was clearly injured. In the middle of this chaotic scene sat a four year old girl. I'm a dad and my daddy senses kicked into high gear. Although the girl wasn't crying, she was clearly scared so I just reached into the pile of people and picked her up. She immediately wrapped her arms around my neck, laid her head on my shoulder, and started crying.

Not for a moment did I think how crazy it might look to some that a sweaty white guy with a bike helmet and gloves was holding a crying black girl in the middle of an intersection. All I knew was that it didn't matter who she was or why she was there. Nothing could have felt more right at that moment. I knew that our relationship would be very short and that I would leave soon and never see her again, but for those 30 minutes the easiest thing I have ever done was to treat that child as my own.

As she clung to me, I began to explain to her that everyone was going to be okay. I then told her that in just a few minutes a fire truck would come to help her grandma and her sister. She told me that she liked firemen, so that would be okay. I then started talking about anything I could think of just to keep her mind off the accident. I found out her name and that she was in preschool. I asked her what her teacher's name was. She told me, then she added very matter-of-factly, "I have a white teacher."

That was great news. We now had something in common. "I'm a white teacher," I told her. "Only I'm a boy. Have you ever seen a boy teacher before?"

She looked at me with a perplexed look and said, "No."

"We'll I'm a white boy teacher. And I have a little four-year-old boy at home." We continued talking as three fire trucks, a few police officers, and an ambulance rolled onto the scene. Since my new friend was uninjured, the paramedics had me hold on to her while they tended to the others.

After a while, a firefighter came over to me and took the girl. I could tell that my part of this drama was over, so I hopped on my bike and pedaled off into the sunset, grateful that I had decided to stop this time and lend a hand.