About four days ago, I found myself on a hot summer day down in the garage with my dad. He had bought an old truck to repair and get back on the road, just something he likes to do as a hobby. Since he needed my help, I probably wouldn't have been down there other wise. Once everything was finally put back in its place, tires were put back on and everything seemed perfect for the moment. My father, in his pride, wanted to take his truck out for a drive just to see how it ran. I'm sure most every man (or woman) who has worked on a car or truck of their own and got it running has felt this pride and became "one" with the automobile. Well, being glad to be out of the garage and away from a large piece of metal and its parts back in place I cooled off in the air conditioning and chatted with my mom. An old lemon-berry slushy from Sonic was rotting in our refrigerator and so I took the liberty of taking it out to dispose of it. Grabbing my shoes and heading out with the watered down treat my dad rumbled in like some kind of monster truck racer. He was happy, and I was glad to see him happy for once.
I drifted off into some kind of day dream as I threw out the liquid substance in the plastic cup and walked a little further towards our trash bens. I caught a glance of towards the truck now parked and running with my dad under the hood again. I never will quite understand why men must do this, but I guess it's just a thing. Turning my back and lifting the lid off of the trash can, a really loud strange noise echoed all around me. It sounded like rain, like a really hard rain hitting leaves...but it wasn't raining. Tossing the cup into the trash/ recycling ben I turned around to find that my dad, his truck, and our dog was missing. It was like they had just vanished into thin air...then it hit me.
AH. One second the truck was there, next second it had rolled backwards as my dad tried to catch it. The story was this: he was looking under the hood as he realized the trucks emergency break hadn't been put down far enough. So, the next scene to this lovely story is my father getting his legs swept out from under him and holding on for dear life as the truck drug him across the yard and into the woods. Wee. It scared the living s#$% out of me. The only thing seen was the truck, the door barely open, and my dad no where. Running up scared out of my mind to find a bloody mess, surprisingly he was actually okay. He was barely holding on, and had the brake pedal held with his index finger while half of his body was under the truck. (Bleeding your breaks, aka making them "stiff", can possibly save your life one day.) Thankfully he was okay, but it could have ended a lot worse. Maybe you can call that fate but I call that God, and I am definitely grateful.
The inspiration of having this blog has left my memory. I guess the main use of it now shall be to share personal stories and experiences just to share with others. I hope everyone has a good week and a good school year (or whatever you're doing with your life!)
No comments:
Post a Comment