Ran Out Of Gas

I really thought the humiliation of the past was a good lesson. I thought wrong.

When Hilary was in 4th grade, I picked her and Sarabeth up from school. We drove a few miles to the high school to pick up Elisabeth. But as we neared the school, my suburban sputtered and died. I couldn't figure out what was wrong. I'd run out of gas.

About a month later, with Hilary in the car, it happened again. In the same neighborhood, picking Elisabeth up from school. This time a police officer stopped to help us. He pushed the suburban to the side of the road with his lights flashing and then we got to ride in the back of his car. As we drove to the gas station, Hilary sank lower and lower in her seat. She didn't want anyone to see her peering out the back of a police car, locked in like a criminal. I laughed about it later when she told me how embarrassed she was. And I figured out that my gas guage was broken.

Fast forward a few years, different car. I get an early morning call from Sarabeth. She, Hilary, and the neighbor were driving to school when they ran out of gas on the highway. Luckily, they were able to coast down the off ramp, park the car on the shoulder and walk 1/2 a mile to a gas station. I was proud of them for taking care of the situation themselves. And I was hoping they'd figured out that when the gas light comes on, it really does mean you need to stop and put gas in it for it to keep running.

This morning my cell phone rings. It's Hilary. She should be at school by now.

"Hi mom."

"Hi Hilary."

"So...I was driving down Simms and the car started sputtering. I coasted to the bottom of the hill, but I ran out of gas."

Gee, I really thought she understood that cars need gas to stay running. And yes, that little light on the dash that comes on as you near empty is there for a reason.