The Buck Stops Here
by Cindy Morris

"Stop! STOP!" Daddy shouted in frustration, as he realized his "hands were tied."

We were on our way home from a Thanksgiving feast at church that clear, dark Wednesday evening. The road conditions were good.

From the day Daughter had received her Learner's Permit, we had allowed her to serve as our willing, economical chauffeur. We were cruising in the
eastbound lane of the highway, only one-half mile from home when Daddy yelled in alarm.

I glanced through the windshield from my backseat-driver post. Standing in the middle of the highway were three deer facing each other as though they
were having a chat. All three turned to stare dully at our bright headlights when at the last possible moment, the light came on for the two smarter ones. Daddy hollered again. Thud! Still, Daughter did not stop, but in horror of what she had just done, acted upon her first instinct: Get out of here NOW! A third order was angrily shouted. The Suburban stopped. Daddy disappeared. Daughter cried. Reaching over the driver's seat, I wrapped my arms tightly around our trembling offspring.

As she wept, I took inventory of our situation. The truck sat in the driving lane of the highway. In the passing lane a few feet away lay the still deer. A car was rapidly approaching from behind. Flipping the emergency flashers on, I helped Distraught Daughter put the truck into gear and pull to the side of the road. Realizing that other drivers would be watching our flashers and not the pavement for potential hazards, I jumped out on the ditch side, waded through knee-high dead weeds in my dress and heels, and sprinted to the deer. "Where's Hubby?" I wondered.

Grasping its two hind ankles, I dragged the deer into the median. That's when I realized that another car, flashers on, was sitting at the opposite side of the highway. It too, had struck one of the fleeing deer. "Hmmm," I thought, "Hubby must be checking on the people in the other car."

Steam sprayed from our recently replaced radiator and something under the hood was making a grinding, clunking sound. Finally Daddy appeared out of
the darkness as a policeman arrived to take a report.

Have you ever found yourself in a muddle of your own making with an unbearable urge to run and hide? Running from our problems won't fix them.
Hiding them from others will only expose our yellow bellies. In fact, repairing our "stupid attacks" won't necessarily rid them from anyone's memory but it will build honorable character for our critics to witness. What better way to teach our children than to be an excellent example by making our mistakes right. The buck stops with us!

So, where was Daddy as his distraught damsel cried her heart out? He was picking up plastic car parts from the pavement!

Indiana Informer