Today’s an important day! My Daddy’s birthday. Every year I rack my brain, trying to come up with the perfect gift that suits him. I’ve gotten him everything from fishing poles to remote control helicopters. I try to think of a gift that shows him just how much he means to me. Something fun. Something he’s always wanted. Something extraordinary.
When I turned 16, he bought me my very own car. A Dodge Champ. It was almost as old as I was, but I didn’t care. It was mine. A new car, for a kid who just got their license. That’s a hard gift to top. But it gets better. A couple of months after getting my car, I was in my Junior year of high school, and pulling out of the driveway, heading to the school for my basketball game. As I put the car in drive, I heard Dad yelling from the porch.
“Put that seatbelt on girl!” he commanded.
“Okay, Pops,” I hollered in response as I snapped the belt in place.
I took off down the road, the wind whipping my hair through the window, and the radio blaring staticky through my factory issued speakers. As I rounded the curve, I met a car a little too close to my side of the road, and I panicked. Rather than slowing down and easing to the right, I yanked the steering wheel, and put both passenger side wheels in the ditch. And it was deep.
I whipped the wheel left, and got back in the road, but something was wrong. I couldn’t straighten it back out. My front axle was broken, and I was spinning in the road. Time slowed to a virtual standstill. This has been only time I’ve ever experienced life in slow motion. What only took seconds, seemed an eternity.
The bank ahead loomed closer, and I was helpless, as I spun around out of control. To this day, that moment was the most scared I’ve ever been. I shut my eyes, and prayed with everything I had. My stomach lurched when the car began to flip, and I’ll never forget the violent sound of breaking tree limbs and screeching metal screaming in my ears, or the contrast of sweet silence when it stopped.
I opened my eyes, and looked around in confusion. I was hanging upside down, the seat belt cutting into my neck and chest, as it held me securely, and safely in place. I looked to my right, and only saw contorted metal where my passenger seat should’ve been. I put my hands to my face, felt my legs, my arms, and my stomach, but miraculously, I didn’t have a scratch. I learned later, that a lone tree, only three or four inches in diameter, had stopped my car, and had stopped me from being crushed.
I didn’t linger, and unlatched the belt, catching myself before I fell on my head. I shimmied out of my window, and ran like I’d never ran before to the nearest neighbor’s house. I just knew the car was going to explode. Of course, now I know, that’s just stupid. But thanks to Jason, and his violent, shoot ‘em up, blow ‘em up movies, the only car wrecks I’d ever seen, had ended in fire and death to anyone nearby. So no, my car didn’t blow up, and thank goodness, no one witnessed my stupidity (thanks a lot Jay).
My dad saved my life that day. You’ll never tell me any different. And to top things off, a few weeks later, he bought me another car. A little maroon Subaru, that I loved and drove for years. It was a five speed, and he taught me how to drive it. I had it for weeks, before he let me take it out by myself. Finally, I said “Dad, if you let me drive it to school, I’ll buy you a new truck when I get older.”
I drove it to school the next day, but poor Dad still doesn’t have that new truck. It’s a running joke between us, that I’m buying it for him piece by piece. Every year I get him something new. Windshield wipers. Nerf bars. One of these days he’ll have the whole thing. But I came to terms a long time ago, that no matter how great of a gift I can think of to get him, it will never compare to him. Happy birthday Pops! You’re the best!