Garage Doors: Endangered Species

Perhaps you've seen a garage door before? They seem fairly common these days, but don't be fooled! Garage doors have become an endangered species. Their mortal enemy? The teenage driver.

Teenagers seem to do their level best to kill at least one and earn the special dents and glory that come from such dangerous and often fatal* rendezvous. Who can blame them? There's a certain thrill to be gained when you smash into a garage door. When you observe the amazing level of havoc you've just created- doubtless a sense of something will prick you. Be it pride or shame.

I received a text message this week from my little sister along the lines of: "Just rammed into the garage door. It is no more." Naturally, I got home as quickly as I could because when you've just killed a garage door, you need moral support. I happen to know this for a fact...

You see, when I was 15 and still learning how to drive, I too killed a garage door. But my damage was much worse than my sister's. She only ruined the garage door...a simple, cheap aluminum model. My murder...well, it wasn't pretty.


It was a beautiful day in Nebraska...I couldn't tell you what season it was- I only know it wasn't winter. My Dad had me driving around the neighborhood- getting in those hours of practice. He was a very patient and thorough instructor. I had been forced into the whole "driving thing." I couldn't care less about it, but my parents wanted to have a 3rd driver available in case of emergencies. I probably would have delayed the process as long as possible, but I was told I couldn't go on the choir trip if I didn't pass my driver's permit test. So I got an A on the test. No way was I missing that choir trip after practicing for months! Now, several weeks-maybe even months- later I was feeling pretty good about this whole driving thing.Two pedals, one steering wheel, a seat belt- like driving a Go Kart.

I was comfortable with driving. It wasn't my favorite thing- but I could do it. It was still early in the evening and there were a couple more hours of daylight. Dad had finally agreed that the lesson was over and we could go home. Excited, I turned towards home. As we passed the neighbor's house I noticed one of the boys out playing basketball. I waved and again, focused on driving.**

As I pulled up into the driveway, my Dad thought that I was going a bit fast and the next word I heard was "STOP!" My brain responded immediately and I jammed on the brake pedal...only it wasn't the brake pedal...

We plowed into the side of the house, crushing the ugly squash-colored vinyl siding, splintering the white trim, and bending in the track of the garage door. The only thing that stopped us? The bumper of our family suburban which was parked in the garage...of course, we dented that and it moved forward a foot or so (leaving inches between it's front bumper and our dining room wall!)

Mortified, because I had just had my first accident and in major shock; I can't tell you how my Dad was feeling, thinking or acting. I only know that we suddenly had a tiny crowd of neighbors- and of course my family- who was curious about the loud banging that had occurred.

After several minutes- and once my Dad had finished a quick assessment of the damage- I was told it was ok. I could get out of the car. Shakily, I climbed out to be met with stares- mostly of sympathy.

"You know, Dear," my next door neighbor's grandmother told me, "I had my first accident when I was about your age..." and here I was introduced to a new topic of conversation. I had just earned my "badge" and right to speak about accidents with knowledge- and no human being had been injured. A few more neighbors shared their stories with me too over the course of the next month or so and I gradually began to feel as if I might drive again...someday.

We left the dent in the suburban. Used that suburban to pull the house back into place (apparently, I knocked it off the foundation an inch or so...). Replaced the truck's front bumper. Had to go to a special shop to find the weird pattern of vinyl from military housing to match the pieces I had crushed. Never were able to match the ugly squash color...which, combined with the dent in the suburban were solid reminders of the dangers of driving. And lastly, my Dad somehow bent that metal garage door track back into place- the door itself was solid particle board...it would have cost a LOT to replace it. Thankfully, it had been open.

So you see, I know all about garage door murder.*** It happens. Especially when there are teens around.

*Fatal to the garage- not the teen- depending on the teen's parents...

** My Dad likes to say that I was paying special attention to this boy- ridiculous nonsense. His older brother was much more interesting- and neither was as interesting as another guy I had my eye on at the time. There was NO distraction from driving that can be credited to the neighbor boy, ok? Just so we're clear...boy=no distration.

***I suppose mine was more of a "house murder"...It was pretty awful. But I learned a lot about house repair...and how to replace a bumper on a truck, so if you have questions...:)