When I was learning to drive, I took out a bush. I backed over both the curb and it, gently mauling the undercarriage of my mom’s brand new minivan in the process. The Nissan Quest proved to be resilient, regretfully the shrub did not possess the same powers of imperviousness. It happened because I thought I was in drive, instead of reverse, and punched the gas, flying backwards instead of straight away. I hit the brakes as soon as my brain could transmit the signal, slowly shifted to drive, delicately bounced off the curb and popped it into park.
My dad and I both exited the vehicle and walked around to assess the damage. The van was excessively leafy, but unblemished. But the poor bush. It was bent at an unnatural angle, looking a lot like my sister’s arm had after I accidentally closed the car door on it when she was four. After a second, my dad let out a howl of laughter, fueled by gratitude that no person or vehicle had been injured as well as the inherent humor in the situation. I looked at him, close to tears, and he kept laughing and gave me a hug. I asked, “do you think the bush will make it?” He tried to give me hope, saying that maybe it would recover, but I knew he didn’t believe it.
Unfortunately for my ego, this particular bush had been growing about 100 yards from the warehouse that, in those days, held my dad’s music distribution business. Over the course of the next couple of days, he took many of his employees out to the parking lot, to point out the damage I had done. Many of them had known me for years and were deeply amused.
Anyone else have a good memory of when they hit something with a vehicle for the first time?