The Day Dad and I Nearly Got Killed

Miracle on the Highway

My dad passed away in 2012, but he and I nearly died together many years ago, back in 1989. Had this incident been on video, it would have gone viral.

My dad was a quiet and unassuming man. He spoke with an east Texas accent that was so thick; to understand him, you needed to be from Farmersville, Texas. He was not outspoken. He was never fashion-conscious. He worked hard all his life and retired from Kraft Foods. He didn’t care what kind of car you drove. He rarely understood irony; everything is what it is. He was kind and courteous. He wouldn’t even hang up on a telemarketer. He patiently listened and politely said, “Nah, we ain’t in’ersted. Thank ya.” He was funny. He could say the most hilarious things…quietly. People used to say, “Your dad is so funny …and quiet.” It was natural. It was not something he worked on.

Because of this, he was a master of the Art of Understatement.

The fateful day occurred after I had car trouble about fifteen miles from home. I called him to come get me. When he picked me up, we decided to fix the problem the next day…something to do with parts. That evening, it snowed a lot. Yeah, it's snowing in Texas. It's no big deal, but the snow began to melt. The roads were slushy. Then, an ice storm hit early the next morning. I can’t remember why, but it was very important to get my car.

He owned a faithful, feather-light Nissan 200SX at the time. He cranked it, warmed it up, breath steaming out of our noses and mouths. We headed out on our date with Destiny.

The road looked like the glaze on a doughnut. It was well below freezing. Everything was crunchy, with almost no traction. We had a few narrow escapes, but Dad adjusted. I was feeling pretty confident, and so was he. We kept going. I don’t care where you’re from, but no one can drive well on ice if you don’t have chains on the tires. But we had to go.

As I said, Dad is a quiet man. We didn’t say a thing to each other. That’s just the way he was. It has nothing to do with mood. Gloves on, tucked deep in our coats, eyes fixed on the road and oncoming cars, silent and determined to accomplish this now heroic mission.

Then we saw it.

A gigantic semi-truck was plowing down the road toward us. Ice and snow billowed from under the tires as it seemed to build speed.

Then it happened.

The world was suddenly rearranged. The little Nissan went sliding down the road sideways for no apparent reason. Then swerved into the path of the oncoming bringer of death on eighteen wheels. I was in the passenger’s seat and angled at the bazillion pounds of encroaching whale-sized chunk of propelled metal.

I vaguely remember my dad fighting with the wheel on the periphery of my consciousness. I was completely helpless. The “MAC” emblem on the front of the truck was growing fast! While this was happening, I froze. You can’t move when certain death is coming that fast. Although pointless, I braced for impact. I always wondered if that truck driver saw me as I contemplated the doom and sheer terror on my face. If Dad didn’t correct this situation, that monster would T-Bone the 200SX. I would be splattered all over the radiator like a hopeless insect in a nanosecond.

Just before impact, a hand seemed to reach out of heaven and correct the careening Nissan. We suddenly returned to the correct lane as the eighteen-wheeler zoomed past, chunks of snow and ice showering the car. I thought I would need a change of underwear, and I began hyperventilating, but angels were singing in my head. Dad never missed a beat.

He just looked straight ahead. In case I missed it, he let me know as if he had avoided nothing more than a stray dog in the road and said, “I bet we had ‘at feller in ‘at truck purty sceerd.”

I said, “Yep.”

Dad at his birthday party in 2008.

(If you enjoyed this little tribute to my father, you might also enjoy my epic fantasy fiction Blood & Soul that I dedicated to him.)