Always check twice.

Saturday morning I drove the kids over to Hannah’s for the day.  I pulled into the cul-de-sac and waved at her son Ben, age 7, who was sailing sticks and bits of leaves in the raingutter stream, all swollen with spring meltwater.  Ben stood up and waved back as I pulled my minivan up into their steep driveway littered with plastic action figures.  The driveway was pretty full, so I decided I’d rather park in the street; I put the van into reverse, and as I started to back out I automatically looked up and scanned the street.

Ben? 

I stomped on the brakes.  The van rocked on its springs.

Up popped Ben from behind the minivan, where he’d bent over to gather the sticks from the gutter behind my wheels.  I breathed through my mouth, engine running and toes immobile on the brake, and watched him; he ran around from the back to the front, disappeared from sight in front of my left wheel well, leaped back up with his hands full of toys rescued from the middle of the driveway, and trotted away.

I made it inside, told Ben’s parents, let them give him a talking to (which I hardly remember).  I haven’t been driving the minivan for that long, and the one thing I hate about it is the giant blind spot right behind it.  I can’t see anyone shorter than about five foot one if they’re standing right behind my car.  If I hadn’t checked twice —

–Well.  I did check twice.  That time anyway.  And I hope I always do check.  I hope you do too.