When Going Gets Tough, Cowards Run

Choices.

Life is filled with tough moral choices.

Pivotal moments when presidents and peons alike must decide whether to do the right thing or try to take the coward’s way out.

Everyone makes mistakes. Big Bird on Sesame Street used to sing about that. It’s how a person deals with his mistakes that shows what he’s made of.

About 8:40 p.m. last Tuesday, my wife and I met a young man who stood at the edge of one of those moral forks in the road.

He made a choice.

“He’s driving away,” I hollered, standing in the cold air like a big slack-jawed doofus. “Call 911.”

I spluttered and watched as a sporty red compact with an EWU decal in the rear window - which bore the impression of my Camry’s nose on its driver’s door - tore out of the Cobblestone bakery parking lot and disappeared west on Seventh Avenue.

One more hit and run in good ol’ Spokane.

Each year there are between 1,600 and 1,700 hit-and-run incidents here. An overwhelming number, especially considering only two officers are assigned full time to this load.

In my case nobody was hurt, thank God. An hour earlier, Wendy O’Brien wasn’t so lucky.

The 32-year-old was struck by a car while walking across Monroe. The southbound driver sped away, leaving her bleeding in the street from critical head and internal injuries.

My trouble began as a routine fender-bender.

We were traveling north in the far left lane of Washington Street. The red car was either one or two lanes to my right. I didn’t pay it much mind until it took a sudden sharp left turn into my lane.

I mashed the brakes. The Camry slowed. Not quite enough.

My car’s right front corner buried into the compact’s soft side. No big impact. It felt like more of a slow push as metal gave way.

Then came that awkward, oddly quiet moment when two drivers involved in an accident get out of their cars and face each other.

The red compact’s driver was a well-groomed young man, who was black, about 5 foot 11, with a slender build and short hair. He was in his early 20s, dressed like a middle-class college kid.

He walked around my car and looked at the damage. He swore. He walked into the street and looked at the pavement. He swore some more.

“You can’t turn left from an inside lane, you know,” I told him, trying to think of something to say.

I asked him for his license and registration. He turned his handsome face at me. “Sure,” he said, and got into his car.

And sped away.

My turn to swear.

His leaving the scene was so matter of fact, so blatant. As I watched him go I had to wonder what his parents would think of their son trying to run away from his troubles.

For months, the nation has come apart at the seams over a president who made a bad choice.

Had Bill Clinton simply owned up to his problems in the beginning, this Monica mess would’ve have dissipated like morning dew.

It’s easy to forgive someone who is truly contrite.

I don’t have a clue why the young driver chose to skip.

Was he driving someone else’s car? Was he uninsured? Had he been drinking?

The truth will come out eventually.

This is a small town. You can count on somebody reading this and recognizing him or the car.

Besides, we got the license number.

I’m not out for blood. Let the police do their thing. Let the repair shops take care of the damage. Let the insurance companies wrangle over expenses.

I’d just like to ask this kid what he’s going to do the next time he’s in a jam.