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BOUNTIFUL — Late afternoon this past summer I was out in the garden picking tomatoes when, suddenly, my 2-year-old who had been there moments before was nowhere to be found.
Our house sits at the end of a dead-end street, eight houses up from a very busy road. As I ran to the front of the house, I looked down the street. I could barely make out a tiny object just feet from the main road.
"Oh please. Please don’t let that be him," I pleaded.
I began to walk fearfully toward it when suddenly I knew what it was: My son’s wiggle car with him on top, his tiny legs pushing it forward, unnoticed by passing cars.
Panic gripped me as I flung off my sandals and began to run as fast as I could. Time slowed.
Two children stood on the street corner just a few feet from my son, watching. I thought, "I am about to watch my own child get run over by a car. My life will be ruined — my husband's, our children, whoever hits him, and those two kids watching — and it’s all my fault."
Horrified, I knew I would never make it in time. I began to pray out loud. “Please God. There’s no way I’m going to make it in time. Please stop him!”
In that moment I screamed as loud as I could. “Edison! Stop!”
Edison calmly stood up, his legs still straddling the wiggle car, and waited for me.
I have never felt relief like that moment I grabbed him in my arms.
I stared at those two boys on the corner. They were probably 5 and 8 years old. I was so upset. It was all I could do not to yell, “How come you just stood there and watched him trying to drive into the street?! Why didn’t you go get your mom or grab him?”
Yes, they had stood there. But not just watching him; watching over him — a minor detail that made all the difference.
I knew that was wrong. Of course the fault lied with me and me alone. So instead I bit my tongue and shot out a sarcastic, “Thank you!”
A couple of weeks ago I saw those two boys on the corner again. Out of curiosity, I went up and talked to them. I asked them if they wondered, that day, where in the world the little boy’s mom was. One of the boys kind of smiled and said, “Yeah.”
I smiled back and thanked them for real this time, though I didn’t know why I had. Maybe subconsciously I somehow knew the real story.
That Sunday I met the mother of the two boys. I told her the whole story. She smiled, “I know. My older son came in that day and said, 'Holy cow. I just got that lady’s kid out of the street and then she yelled at me.' ”
I was annoyed at this. As I walked away my first thought was, “I didn’t yell at him. I bit my tongue. In fact, I should have yelled. He stood there and watched instead of going for help.”
And then all of a sudden something she had said hit me with full force. I went back over to her, this time humbled.
“My son was still in the road when I got to him, but he was on the side of the road.” I told her. “Your son said he got him out of the street.”
The woman nodded.
“Did your sons tell my baby to stay there?” I asked her. “Did they stop him from going any further?”
The woman nodded. “That’s what they told me.”
I thanked the woman profusely and then told her to please tell her children how grateful I was. I told her to send them over any time for cookies or to come play at our house.
As I walked away I couldn’t fight the emotion. I had been taught an extremely valuable lesson. I had assumed these boys had just stood there and watched my child make his way to certain death, but my assumption couldn’t have been further from the truth. Yes, they had stood there. But not just watching him; watching over him — a minor detail that made all the difference.
As I walked away I wondered how many other times I had assumed the worst about a situation or someone when the opposite was really true.
A priceless lesson I learned from two young boys who saved my toddler's life.
Kate Rose Lee is a Utah native, mother of three and author. You can read more of her writing as well as her books at www. momentsofchunder.blogspot.com. Contact her at momentsofchunder@gmail.com.
