In the back of my admittedly immature and underdeveloped mind, I figured that since I am on all accounts a good driver, it would be a long time before my first accident, and when that time came, I would not be the one at fault. Only the annoying jock-types get into accidents so soon after receiving their license. You know who I mean: the annoyingly cocky and good-looking people who listen to their hip-hop music at full blast and don't seem to care about anything enough to stay awake in class.

Well, after a rather humbling experience, I have come to more than one conclusion based on the hypotheses above.

It was Saturday morning, and I was driving innocently along. Even though my mom and I had had a spat earlier that morning and though I was upset at having to clean house, I was more than happy to drop off the books she requested at the baseball field where she was watching my brother try out for little league baseball. It was unusually cold for SoCal, so I wasn't surprised when she asked me to go pick up her triple-shot latte from Starbucks located right down the street. As I was accelerating and coming out of the left turn from a traffic light, the cup of hot coffee jumped out of its convenient position in the cup holder onto the floor in front of the passenger's seat of my beautiful 1992 Celica. What would anyone do in the situation? As a reflex, my eyes glanced down for no more than a second or two. I felt a bump -- later realizing the car had gone over the curb -- and the next thing I know, there is all sorts of odd, smelly smoke surrounding me, and my air bag had deployed. As soon as I had realized I had hit the streetlight, which took several moments, I leaped out of the car and started crying hysterically at the sight of the car that had been mine for only two weeks. I knew instantly it was totaled.

I called my sister immediately because I knew for sure that she would answer the phone. She did and proceeded to call the paramedics. I then called my mom, who was fortunately right across the street at the baseball field. Not knowing weather or not she would answer -- since she usually doesn't, unless of course it is one of her kids -- I had in mind other family members nearby who would come to my aid. But she answered and I broke down into another round of hysterics.

Luckily, a nice man and woman in an SUV pulled over to help me. The man was an orthodontist and told me that my teeth were saved because of my retainers and even though my face was cut up, if the air bag had not deployed, I could have gone through the windshield or broken my nose or jaw on the steering wheel. He told my mom what had happened. The woman spoke in a soft voice and keep repeating that my mother would NOT kill me, which is what I was absolutely sure about. Well, she didn't kill me. It was a freak accident in which all of the wrong circumstances took place at all the wrong times, and everyone understood that (everyone except the insurance company *drat*).

Anyway, the point is, even the most meticulous drivers get into accidents. Even without distractions -- there was no music playing in the car and I was not on the phone -- and no passengers, anyone can get into an accident. Bottom line: don't EVER look down -- and don't get complacent (as my mom likes to remind me constantly). I'm sorry that I had to sacrifice my car to learn this lesson, but I would have to learn it sometime, and I'm happy I did when my family was so close by to help me and when no one else was around to get hurt.

Also, the annoying jocks mentioned before have more depth than we give them credit for. But that's a different story.

Mom says our similar personalities are what keep us from getting along. I do not disagree with this theory, but in the heat of the moment, I never feel as if we -- that is, my dad and I -- could be more different. Often Mom steps in as the mediator during our spats, sending us to our respective corners of the house. He is so stubborn and aggravating. Apparently I can be too. It turns out Mom was right about us though. Even so, there is nothing that brings two people closer than physics. Literally.

This last summer, I decided to finally break out the telescope that had been gathering dust in our garage for three years. Physics has always sparked an interest in me, and with the scientific media's attention on reclassifying Pluto I decided it was time to take a closer look at the night sky for myself.

The predictable question from the inside of the doorway came as I was dragging the cumbersome black telescope case out of the garage. "What are you doing?" Dad asked. With an exasperated and dismissive tone I replied, "Nothing, Dad," same as always. Every time the offer for help came while I put it together, I refused.

When night settled, I went out by myself to see if there was anything at all to view. The moon was too low behind the rooftops, but a couple of dim stars peeked through the light-polluted sky. I focused in on one of them, and in the eyepiece I could see the planet with the red spot -- except of course it was black and white. I had found Jupiter and three moons all by myself. Instead of feeling pride, though, I felt a pang of guilt. I ran inside as fast as I could. I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs, "Come see what I found!" but could not bring myself to say it. It would be too humiliating to show such excitement when I had wronged my dad by leaving him out of something of which he clearly wanted to be a part. I paused at the doorway so I could catch my breath and walked into the family room casually. I shrugged and, trying to be nonchalant, said, "I found Jupiter. Do you want to see?" As always, he reacted with enthusiasm for my discovery by practically leaping off the couch and following me out into the not-so-starry night.

Like a catalyst, this one night caused a rapid increase in a number of bonding opportunities. We watched What the Bleep Do We Know late one Friday night while doing laundry. Friendly debates concerning the string theory and fundamentals of quantum physics ensued. Together, we are reading the Dalai Lama's The Universe in a Single Atom, and soon I am surprising him with a trip to the newly refurbished Griffith Observatory in L.A. The common passionate interest in physics brought us together and reminded me that I have more in common with people than I often like to think.

Dad is always enthusiastic about my endeavors whether they are successful or not, even when they are irrational. He is there to cheer at all of my Mock Trials and ASB events. I know he will be there for me when I leave for college and am grateful for his support. I am thrilled that this passion brought my soul to a better understanding of my dad. I just wish that instead of misinterpreting his enthusiasm for a chance to hone in on my activities, I had appreciated it from the start as loving support.