Chatty was on her walk, going up and down quiet streets one after another in an effort to put mileage on the old pedometer, when she heard a strange humming noise behind her. It was too loud to be bicycle tires on pavement, but not loud enough to be a car engine. Turning around, she saw a golf cart weaving toward her. It was taking a serpentine path down the street, crossing over to the wrong side of the road every few feet with abandon, and narrowly missing cars parked at the curbs.

    As it drew closer, Chatty noticed it was being driven (she uses the term in its broadest sense) by a boy who could not have been more than 12. With him were 4 other children, ranging in age from about 4 to about 10. The three littlest ones were on the bench seat in the back; the 10-year-old sat next to the driver.

    The golf cart whizzed by Chatty at quite a clip, and took the corner with the kids hanging on for dear life. Golf carts do not have seatbelts.

    Chatty was concerned, but there was nothing she could do – by the time she reached the corner, the cart was halfway down the block and disappearing fast. When last she saw it, it was careening across a rather busy street two blocks down.

    Chatty walked on, and turned down the next street. Pretty soon, she sees the golf cart approaching again. It is still being driven from one side of the street to the other in a winding fashion, and definitely too fast. The driver of a car coming from the opposite direction sees the golf cart in his path and leans on the horn. This causes the kid to over-correct wildly, and he goes crashing up over the soft curb, through a decorative picket fence, and comes to a shuddering stop in a flowerbed. Kids spill out and crying and yelling ensues.

    Now, in your mind’s eye, imagine what follows as happening pretty much simultaneously:

    Chatty reaches the kids and sees that one of the little ones has skinned her knee when falling out of the cart, and that the littlest one has evidently hit her head on the back of the driver’s seat, because her nose is bleeding. They are crying, naturally, but luckily are more frightened than hurt.

    Meanwhile, the driver of the car who honked comes to a screeching halt at the nearest curb, jumps out of his car, and comes running back. He also makes sure that they are basically unhurt, and then turns his attention to the "driver":

    "Who do you think you are?! Mario Andretti???"

    The kid (we’ll call him Mini-Mario from now on) looks understandably confused, but he whispers "No, sir."

    The homeowner has also rushed out, having heard the crying and commotion – not to mention the crunching noises made by her decorative picket fence as it crumpled under the golf cart – and, after doing a quick check to make sure that the kids aren’t badly hurt, also rounds on Mini-Mario.

    "What have you done? My fence is ruined! I just planted those flowers! What were you THINKING, young man???"

    Mini-Mario, lower lip quivering but trying hard not to cry, whispers:

    "I’m sorry, ma’am."

    Chatty has realized that the baby of the bunch thankfully only has a nosebleed, not a broken nose, so she gets out her tissues, tilt’s the baby’s head back and pinches the bridge of her nose - while giving another tissue to her older sister to hold on her skinned knee.

    The homeowner, seeing this, says she’ll be back with first aid supplies, and runs back into her house.

    The man continues:

    "Do your parents know you took this golf cart?"

    It doesn’t seem possible, but mini-Mario looks even more miserable as he replies:

    "No, sir. My mom is gonna KILL me."

    The 10-year-old adds with a certain amount of ghoulish pleasure:

    "Yeah! Dad’s gonna kill you, too!"

    The man softens his tone a bit.

    "Now, now, nobody’s going to get killed. And nobody WAS killed, for which, young man, you should be truly grateful!"

    The homeowner comes back outside with a first aid kit and a plate of cookies.

    She and Chatty minister to the wounded and pass out the cookies. Everyone quiets down.

    We three adults manage to get the cart out of the yard and back into the street. It is not badly damaged - which is more than can be said of the decorative picket fence and the flowerbed.

    Mini-Mario makes a move to climb into the driver’s seat.

    "What do you think you’re doing?"

    "Well, sir, I have to get my brothers and sisters home…and the cart…"

    "You are not driving that cart! I’m betting you will never drive that cart again! I will drive the cart! You will WALK your brothers and sisters home! What’s your address?"

    Mini-Mario provides it, and gives his phone number to the homeowner.

    The man gets on his cell phone and tells his wife he’ll be late getting home, because he has to return a golf cart, and will explain later.

    The homeowner tells Mini-Mario that she expects to see him after school the next day to discuss fixing the fence and planting new flowers. To his credit, Mini-Mario agrees with alacrity, and in a show of brotherly support, the 10-year-old says he will come and help, too.

    Chatty tells mini-Mario he should hold his baby sister’s hand and have her walk with her head tilted back so her nose won’t start bleeding again, and he nods. Chatty gives her sister the rest of the tissues, just in case.

    The little band starts off down the sidewalk; the man gets into the golf cart, starts it up, and cruises slowly along the street beside them.

    As they leave, the homeowner calls out to Mini-Mario:

    "Tell your parents not to worry – we can fix the fence and plant new flowers – it won’t be too expensive, but you have to help me!"

    Chatty wonders if this was what Hillary Clinton had in mind when she quoted the old African saying "It takes a village to raise a child"…