My dad, My hero

“Nothing good ever happens after midnight.” – My Dad. 

My tired legs made the short walk across Arnie’s Restaurant parking lot to climb into my 1997 Chevy Lumina in the dark. The inside of my car was dark as well, because the interior lights were broken. My four older brothers drove the car for years before I finally got the chance to drive it to work and school. Between the hundreds of wrestling practices and gym bags, the car almost permanently smelled like sweat. Manly, spoiled, stale sweat. The brake pedal became so worn, you practically had to jam it into the floor to stop, even if you weren’t going very fast. We were all thankful that the radio lasted through the years, but not much else. The car suffered two car accidents—totaled once—and the back door was replaced with a junkyard door. It was also hit by a deer in the front hood, (that’s a whole other story in itself), and we all knew it was on its last leg. I was scared most of the time that the thing was just going to blow up on me. My family assured me that was nearly impossible.

The evening, chock-full of one hungry customer after another, had been a long waitressing shift. I sank into my driver’s seat and mentally unwound from hours on my feet in a fast-paced environment. I loved this job. It was perfect for me. But with the night over, I was ever so thankful. I couldn’t wait to get out of my food-stained black uniform, count my tips from the night, shower, and climb into bed. I glanced at the clock and noticed it was quite late for me. Friday night shifts were the latest, but I usually still made it home well before midnight. The clock read 11:30pm, so I knew no one would be up when I finally stepped into my quiet house.  

I turned right and stopped at the first of many street lights on the East Beltline. Then, as I pressed my foot down on the gas pedal, nothing seemed to happen. I panicked at the abnormality. I “floored” it, but instead, the car gently coasted through the green light. I didn’t get much further. About 30 feet from the light, my precious car simply stopped. At first, I had absolutely no clue what to do. I didn’t even know where the hazard lights were! I fumbled across the steering wheel in the darkness, searching for anything sticking out that could resemble a HELP sign. I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw headlights coming at me from behind. This couldn’t be happening. It’s so late, there is bound to be dangerous drivers on the road, and here I am in the left lane like a sitting duck. Suddenly, I notice a  man run up to my window. A split second before I rolled down my window, I found the hazard lights. I flipped them on and then turned to him. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?” I frantically exclaimed back that I was okay, because I found my hazard lights. At the moment, apparently, that’s all I cared about. After he left, I turned around quickly and grabbed the orange quilt I kept in the backseat. Winters in Michigan are brutal, and I knew it would get cold if the heat stopped working. I shivered under the blanket and then reached for my phone.

“Mom? Something is wrong with the car. I am on the East Beltline, just past Woodland mall. I got past the light, but there are cars coming at me. I turned on my hazards, and I have a blanket, so I am okay.”

“Dad’s out of bed and on his way!”

After a few minutes, I hung up the phone. Dad was out of bed and on his way, just like that. I barely got out the sentences to my Mom, and she knew trouble immediately. My dad, who sleeps like a bear, quickly dressed and was on his way. For some reason, I was shocked. I didn’t exactly expect him to react like lightning. I am the night person; he is the morning person. When he passes out for the night, he is out for good. Not this time. “He’s coming to get me.” I said to myself. A gentle wave of peace touched me.

The headlights kept coming so quickly behind me and would turn to the other lane at the last second. My thoughts turned to a second disaster of someone possibly hitting me from behind. I literally braced myself for a jolt that I felt sure would come. I just prayed that my little blanket would keep me safe and warm until my Dad came. I couldn’t think past that, and I had to eventually stop looking in the rear view mirror altogether to avoid a panic attack.

I saw our big maroon van barreling down the East Beltline, heading towards me. The Carrel Bus. My heart skipped a beat, and I drew a long breath of relief. My dad. Thank God.

Somehow we managed to get the Lumina to the side of the road, and I hopped in Dad’s van. He asked me what happened, and I explained to him every detail. Come to find out, the car had run out of gas.

Out of gas? Seriously? I know I am a young teenage driver, but am I that stupid? It couldn’t be.

True story. My brothers and I filled the cars up as we needed. Sometime we had a lucky $20. Sometimes we paid with whatever we had with us. Most of the time, it was a measly $5. We didn’t want to pay for each other’s gas. Everything else in the car had broken; I was sure that the gas gauge had been broken at some point. So although I could see that the tank was on E, I didn’t believe it. Surely it was just another thing wrong with the Lumina. Something we laughed about along with the dent from the deer on the front hood.

I wasn’t laughing, though. I felt so foolish. I sat in the passenger side of the van as he took care of the car. We went home, and that was it. My dad didn’t mention anything. He didn’t scold me for not filling up or not paying attention. He could have capitalized on this teachable moment. But, for whatever reason, he let it go. All I can ever think about now, is the simple fact that my dad came to rescue me. And that’s all that matters.