Life Becomes More Fragile When Driven by Impatience

Every year about this time, a heart-shaped spray of red and white carnations appears, fastened to a wire stand perched on a tiny patch of grass in the center island of a busy street near my home.

You cannot help but see it, no matter how you approach, whether you are climbing the hilly street, rounding the corner to enter the freeway or waiting at the end of the exit ramp. It stands as a silent sentry, warning us anonymously of the dangers that lurk on these suburban streets.

Some years there is a sign alongside it or a card tied to it, fluttering in the breeze. But we can never get close enough to read it, without risking our own traffic calamity.

It has become through the years the stuff of neighborhood lore. . . . Legend has it a young woman in a hurry pulled out into the street from the freeway exit, right into the path of a car speeding up the hill, trying to make it through the traffic light before it turned red.

I don’t know the truth . . . and I don’t know that it matters. I only know that I cannot pass that spot without being reminded that life can end, accidentally, in an instant.

LAPD traffic officer Richard Todd, who patrols the San Fernando Valley daily, realizes more than most that the decisions drivers make can change--and end-lives.

We speed through a light as it changes to red, whip around cars that are blocking our way, hit the gas on a street with a wide-open lane.

“We’re all preoccupied with our own needs . . . running late, rushing around,” Todd says. “It’s not that we’re bad people or bad drivers, but we tend to get a kind of tunnel vision when we’re behind the wheel, not paying attention to what’s going on around us.

“Most of the time, it works out OK. We don’t crash, we don’t get pulled over by the police . . . so we get kind of complacent.

“But once you’re in an accident--whether you’re hurt or you hurt somebody--it can really change your life. I get there and see these cars crumpled up, people injured . . . .” says Todd. “And whatever was important to them before--getting the kids to school, getting home from work, getting to that business meeting on time--well, it doesn’t seem so important anymore.”

In fact, more than two-thirds of the accidents on American roads are caused by what the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration calls “aggressive driving”--speeding, running red lights, making sudden lane changes . . . all the hallmarks of folks in a hurry.

And in our impatience and frustration, we seldom realize that those split-second decisions that might save us a few seconds might also take a life.

I imagine that is heavy on the mind right now of the San Fernando Valley woman who recently drove through an intersection and seriously injured two little boys on a busy North Hills street two weeks ago.

The 9- and 10-year-old brothers were roller-blading across the street, their parents trailing a few steps behind. Two cars had stopped to let the boys cross the intersection. They had almost made it to the other side when a car pulled around the stopped autos and hit both boys, as their parents watched.

The driver told police she never saw the children until she hit them. Both boys lived, although one has a broken leg and arm, and his brother spent a week in intensive care and is still hospitalized with head injuries.

I shudder to think of what the mother of those boys must be feeling. I cannot imagine much worse than seeing my children mowed down by a car . . . except maybe being the driver of that car, knowing my impatience almost cost two young boys their lives.

We are running late, as usual. I’ve dropped one daughter off at school, and am speeding down a wide-open street, trying to get my second daughter to class on time.

I know I am in trouble as soon as I spot an officer, straddling his motorcycle along a side street, his radar gun aimed directly at me.

It is too late to brake, to slow down. I begin sidling toward the curb even before he pulls out behind me, his lights flashing in my rearview mirror.

My daughter cranes her neck to see him and begins to wail as he heads for our car. I shush her and fumble for my wallet . . . license, registration, insurance card.

“I’m sorry, Officer,” I mumble, trying to look composed, to sound contrite. “I was in a hurry . . . running late.” I nod toward the back seat, where my daughter sits crying. “I’m just trying to get her to school on time. . . .”

“In a hurry,” he repeats, nodding, as I hand him my credentials. “Well, this won’t take long.” He scribbles out my citation. “You were going 57,” he tells me. “You know the speed limit here?”

“Forty?” I guess. He nods, handing me the ticket. “The risk you’re taking . . . it’s not worth the time you save.”

He turns to leave, then leans in toward my daughter. “It’s OK, honey,” he tells her. “Better a ticket for your mommy than an accident on your way to school.”

I pull off slowly, and round the corner. The spray of flowers is still there, though the stand has toppled on its side and the carnations lie wilted against the ground.

I tap my brakes and count my blessings. . . . Suddenly, a $167 ticket seems a very small price to pay.

*

Sandy Banks’ column is published on Sundays and Tuesdays. Her e-mail address is sandy.banks@latimes.com.