Last year, on a hot afternoon just before Christmas, I was picking my daughter up from childcare. That in itself is usually a pretty stressful situation. But on this day my seasonal anxiety was compounded by a toddler’s sleep regression and a family fight that, after decades of simmering tension, was at last boiling over.
Out of respect for involved parties – and fear of setting off round two – I’ll skip the details. But for the sake of this story all you need to know is that I was trying to back out of a very busy car park while a child screamed and I wondered if the people I loved most in the world would ever speak to each other again. Somewhere in that fugue of emotional and auditory anguish I backed right into another mum’s car.
Reversing into another mid-priced 4WD is never a good feeling. But it’s made worse by occurring in a childcare car park – a space that (understandably) takes responsible driving very seriously.
As soon as I felt the screeching grind of two “Baby on Board” bumper stickers colliding I knew I was screwed. I was about to get berated by another fried parent, on a 30C day, in front of a bunch of preschoolers.
Leaning out the window, already in tears, I instinctively prepared to beg. But as I internally debated whether my whole life story would induce mercy or anger I was stopped by an expression of sympathy, not rage.
I don’t know what I looked like to that woman. Or if she could hear the shrieks over the blasting Baby Shark, but in that moment she chose kindness.
“Don’t worry about it.”
I was stunned. Assuming she didn’t understand the scope of the crunch, I replied: “God I’m so sorry, I absolutely just hit your car.”
“It’s honestly OK,” she insisted.
Disbelieving that someone could be so holy, I offered her my phone number, sure she’d change her mind when she got home.
“I promise you I won’t. It’s just a car. It’s Christmas. Life is already so stressful, just forget this happened. You don’t need to worry about this.”
At this point I was fully weeping, although now they were tears of relief and gratitude.
I still see her (and her scratched “Baby on Board” sticker) at pickup sometimes. We smile blandly and in a way that tells me she doesn’t think about that afternoon. It was just a passing moment for her, a second of thoughtless grace.
But to me, it was a lifeline. One that not only saved my insurance premiums but also reminded me that I was not alone – in that car park or my life.
