Hershberger Fender Bender’s Club

They may disagree, but the men in our family have formed a new club: The Hershberger Fender Benders.
It began the night our newest driver bumped into a cement post at the gas station, knocking out the tail lamp’s plastic cover and leaving a crease on the rear fender of the van. “The other kids’ noise bothered me,” was his only explanation.
“Accidents will happen,” we assured him.
“Especially with teenage boys,” we said in private.
Weeks later, he was on his way to pick up his brother from work when he bumped into the tailgate of the truck in front of him – or the truck jogged out in front of him from a side road. We’ll never knew; the truck driver left (promising to get the police) and never came back.
The fender had a hole, the radiator leaked and the air conditioner coil had a new set of bends, but the car was driveable. He was only a bit late picking up his brother.
My husband sighed and began trying to figure out how much more the insurance was going to be.
Within the week our other son walked in one night, carrying the front bumper to our compact car. “Look, Dad, I did it, too.” It was too dark for him to see the curb before he hit it as he backed up to leave a friend’s place. Father and son stayed up late that night bending it back into shape and re-attaching it to the car.
Somewhere around midnight my husband crawled into bed. “It’s back on,” he sighed, “but he never seemed particularly sorry about it.”
Between work and wrecking cars, we went to New Orleans the weekend my son and his fiancee officially announced their short engagement. I was in the back seat of the van as the prospective groom drove us to some store. Suddenly he slammed on the brakes – too late to avoid hitting the car waiting for the red light. That car slid into the car in front of it. Four fenders in one blow.
When we explained why we were so late, my husband began muttering about no one driving our cars except himself and me. And he wasn’t so sure about me. (I think it has something to do with the way I use the curb to park the car.)
A few days later, the bride-elect came for a visit. She parked her car under our basketball goal. The men came home in separate cars – after dark. Our very tall son was driving our tiny compact. Before dawn the next day, my husband crawled into the sardine can. He was backing out of the garage adjusting the rear-view mirror when something stopped his backward motion.
“What is back there?” he muttered, turning around. A few minutes later, he woke me sounding rather shocked, “I wrecked her car.” Actually it was only the front fender, but that made him an official member of the Hershberger Fender Bender Club. He never said anything else about his sons’ driving skills.
Recently our daughter began driving. She says she is NOT going to make the club co-ed. We’ll see.