James Addis

Saturday, June 14, 2008 will mark the two year anniversary of my son's death. He was only fourteen years old when he was killed in 2006, just four days before father's day.

There are several twists leading up to that day. First off, we had just moved back to North Carolina from Florida just eight weeks prior to his accident. We lived in a tiny little apartment for the first six weeks before moving into our house for the last two weeks. School had just let out for the summer on Monday, June 11, 2006. James was to leave that Friday to go spend the summer in Florida with his Grandmother. Which ment he would have to be alone during the day for a couple of days.

The Sunday prior to that one of the neighbors told his father that James had been riding his 4-wheeler recklessly, so his father took the keys away from him and hid them. James waited until we went to work on Wednesday then he scoured the house until he found the keys. He and another boy were racing up and down the dirt road at the top of the hill where we live.

A car backed out of their driveway. James was going too fast to react properly (55 mph). He panicked and grabbed the hand brakes instead of using the foot brakes. When he did, the 4-wheeler flipped several times and threw him over 100 feet. He was not wearing a helmet. His friend said that he had been wearing it all day, but that they had gone to his house a few minutes before the accident to get a coke, and when they were done James left his helmet on the ground at the end of the driveway.

His neck was broken, and he died instantly. However his injuries were so massive that he had to be creamated.

Being that we had only lived in our house two weeks, no one knew our names. So they did not know how to reach us. Also, James was somewhat of a practical joker. When the kids asked them where his Dad worked, he told them that it was a secret, but that he worked for the government. Truth is his Dad sold cars. Anyway someone finally thought to look in the mailbox to see if the mailman had come yet. Sure enough, there was mail in the box and they were able to get our names.

Problem is they put out an A.P.B. for all government offices. When they had no luck with that, one of the neighbors drove up to the elementary school, where she knew thay were having summer camp for the little kids. And she asked the principal if she knew how to get ahold of the principal at James' High School so that he could go over to the school and check James' record to see if it had a phone number of where his parents worked.

I was the one who happened to answer the phone when they called me at work. This was about 4:00. The accident happened at 1:45. The officer did not have a sense of urgency in his voice. So I figured he probably had a broken arm or something. And we'd have to stich him up. But that was not the case at all. I had given the officer my husband's work number. And he got home before I did. And they had already taken him to identify my son before I got there.

I begged them to let me see my son, but they would not.

After my son died my husband and I both decided we could not just stand by and watch this happen to another mother's child. We had to provide the kids in this area a safer means of recreation. There are no parks or playgrounds in our town at all. Thus my husband and I took the money from our son's prepaid college fund, and the money from the sale of his 4-wheeler that he got killed on. And we established a Youth Center in his memory. The kids were the ones who chose to name it after James. So we call it The James Addis Youth Center. After two years we now have approximately 27 active members, and have been on approximately 50 outings. We have a 17-passenger bus, and we provide transportation for the kids to go bowling, to the movies, swimming, hiking, horseback riding, and all kinds of fun stuff as an alternative to racing 4-wheelers up and down dirt roads and getting hurt.

Every year, friends and neighbors gather with us at his crash site. A few showed up last year. I expect even less will show this year. Until finally, one year, it will just be me...

Debbie Addis

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