The Charlie Bravo Story

The Story of Fred

Charlie Bravo in the house! With all the drama outside, it’s easy to forget that there are others facing their own private crises every day. An example:

Dad and I were heading out eatly yesterday to help a buddy move; the air was crisp and clean, and traffic was light. All was well with the world until we were passed by not one but three lifted pickup trucks, each carrying a brand new ATV. You could tell that they were feeling a bit sparky, the mini-caravan of testosterone weaving in and out of traffic, rebels without a clue. Let ’em go, dad; it ain’t worth the effort.

They happened to take the same exit as ours, which terminates at a stop sign. We were now the fourth in line behind the Three Stooges waiting to proceed when we heard a BOOM; the lead truck had pulled out , directly into the path of an SUV heading south. The SUV had swerved to miss the truck, the glancing impact sending it corkscrewing through the air before grinding to a stop at the far side of the intersection.

Before I knew it, dad was on autopilot, out and sprinting towards the SUV, which was on its side with hissing steam from the radiator and windshield wiper fluid being sprayed in all directions adding to the pandemonium. He could see a figure inside, but the shattered windshield made it impossible to determine who, what, or how many. Then a voice: “GET ME OUT OF THIS DAMN CAR!”

A large man was wedged between the ground and the steering wheel, blood streaming from a gash on his his head and leg. He was obvious that he was coming out, with or without outside help, so dad and another man kicked out the windshield and helped lever him out and onto the nearby grassy median. By this time a crowd had begun to gather, with others calling 911, his wife, etc, and all dad could do was hold the older man’s hand until the paramedics arrived. The last info we heard was concerning his condition was a broken neck, leg trauma and a probable concussion.

What if that had been us driving southbound on HWY 5 yesterday, instead of heading west? What if we had been on the bike instead of in the Subie? What if, instead of the rescuers, we were those in need of being rescued?

Well, what if?

It would be easy to become locked down by the fear of “what it”, but any decision based solely on fear of “what if” is always the wrong decision. I’m not saying that if there’s a potential protest/riot happening in your town that you should immediately drive over there and check it out; it’s not entertainment. Plus, the fine print on most car insurance policies nullifies the coverage in the event of a riot; these things must be factored into a decision, but fear cannot be the determining factor, sometimes common sense is the best of the five, and should not be ignored. What I am saying is that we can’t be controlled by fear; none of us are promised tomorrow, and we should live accordingly. In the immediacy of yesterday’s situation, not a second thought to social distancing when they pulled that man from his SUV; all you can do is the best you can do with all you have, and let the chips fall where they may.

We’ll keep you posted on “Fred”‘s condition(name changed to honor privacy); as it turns out, mom and Zach work with some close relatives of the family, and Fred’s wife had actually heard of me, the Queen of the Casa del Whackos.

It’s a small world, and only you can make a difference when it matters

See you down the road…

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