SuperSchmoo

Our home is nestled amid the beautiful rolling hills of East Tennessee. Accordingly, our driveway is rather sloped.

One evening recently, we were visiting with friends and neighbors in our front yard. There were about a dozen children playing as the parents chatted together.

Suddenly one mother cried out. Her two year old son, Josh, was sitting in the Little Tykes coupe. A look of delight was on his face as he began descending the hill. But the coupe quickly gathered speed on the steep driveway. Soon it was halfway down, and I wondered if Josh might complete his adventure without injury. As the car veered off the driveway, I hoped it might slow to a stop in the grass. But the runaway vehicle continued moving steadily, and now it was headed toward the curb and the street below. Luckily, there was not traffic, but I feared the car would flip at the curb, ejecting Josh onto the asphalt head first. Josh's father sprinted toward the street, but it appeared clear that the car would get there first.

All of this happened in seconds. I took in the scene with concern. But my worries suddenly escalated, as I realized my own child might be in danger as well. Schmoo was standing at the curb, and the car was headed straight for him. I wanted to tell him to jump out of the way so he didn't get run over. But there wasn't time to voice my warning. I could only hope his instincts would tell him.

Schmoo's insticts did not tell him to save himself. In a split second, he turned his head and saw the coupe moving toward him. But he didn't jump out of the way. As I looked on in awe, I saw him plant his little feet, and extend his skinny arms toward the oncoming vehicle. And he stopped it.

Schmoo was shaken and a little bruised, but Josh emerged unscathed.

So much for mother's instincts. Let's hear it for hero's instincts.