A couple miles away, in some family’s rural house, there was a laser disc rental business.
This was a exciting. VCRs weren’t common yet. After a movie had left the theaters, the only chance to see it was if it happened to be on TV.
We’d go to this house, peruse through rows and rows of movies, then go home with a few to occupy our weekend.
This was mom and pop shop. They ran it out of their basement. I’d see their kids wandering down into the basement or playing in the yard.
On one trip it was just my step dad and I. We picked a couple of movies, got into the car and started to back up out of their driveway.
As the space where our car was just parked became visible, I saw that a tiny kitten had been under our wheel. We ran it over. It was squirming and writhing in pain.
The little five year old girl ran over to her kitten, squatted down, and hesitated at her instinct, surely scared and confused by the flopping around and desperate meows. I imagine she was seeing death for the first time.
It was an accident. He didn’t know it was under his car before he backed out.
But what wasn’t an accident was pretending that it didn’t happen.
Here’s what he didn’t do: stop, get out, comfort the girl, go let the parents know, aknowledge, apologize, ask if there’s anything he can do, apologize again, show empathy, or take responsibility.
He just drove away.
Even as a ten year old, I recognized that he let the weight of the effects of his actions rest on a little five year old girl. I recognized the cowardice.
This was my father figure.
And I made a deal with myself that no matter what I would be ruthlessly honest with myself and willing to change anything about myself necessary to have a life different than the one I had growing up.
At all costs I would not be like him.