Hobbling around the Rancho today with a stiff right leg, from where it was crunched yesterday between the rear bumper of my Jeep and the big brush-popper bumper on a Suburban. By all rights, the leg ought to be broken, just above the knee. Instead, it’s just bruised good and sore.
I was parked about six feet in front of the Suburban, on a slight incline across the street from Mr. Boy’s elementary school, before the kids were let out for the day. I got out and walked behind the Jeep and set off for the school. I heard a shout behind me, and turned to see the Jeep rolling backwards on an angle. It was moving slowly, so I instantly decided I could stop it and got behind it and started pushing. Can’t be done. Three thousand pounds of car can’t be stopped, except by Superman. Maybe that’s who I thought I was.
Meanwhile, the Dad who shouted got the Jeep’s door open and pulled up the parking brake. Just as the Jeep’s rear bumper slowly, inexorably, pushed my right leg against the Suburban’s bumper. Hurt like hell. I yelled. Moms there for pickup came running. Do you need 911? No, seemed okay, I could walk. Still can, it’s just sore. Next time, I’ve firmly decided, I will just watch the crash.
THE TEXAS SCRIBBLER 