It has been in my parents garage in the same place for many years. My brother has many camping memories in that Blazer. I have many memories of that Blazer saving the day.
Last Saturday, I went over to my parents house to hang out with Mom while my husband went to media duty at our church. I usually go out to the garage to start the Blazer and run it a bit. Before Dad passed away, I was doing it in hopes that it would be running when he came home from the hospital. Now I do it, just to keep it running.
On Saturday, I went out to the garage and put the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. It wouldn't start. I suppose it just sat there too long.
Who knows?
Memories came flooding back to me about that silly Blazer.
When I was a senior in high school, my dad bought a brand new red Blazer. I needed to borrow it to pick up some homecoming balloons for the big game. On my way to school, I was distracted and went head-on with a parked car, a Toyota Corolla, which didn't have a chance.
My first instinct was to run. Drive off. Who would know?
But I got out of the Blazer, went to a front door and knocked. Dad was called, came to my rescue. He made me drive the wrecked Blazer to school anyway, where I received my first tardy slip in all my years of school.
Dad's insurance covered the repairs on the poor Toyota but not the 2-week-old Blazer. Dad ordered the parts and sat in the driveway while he instructed me on how to fix the Blazer.
I'll never forget it.
In college, on my way home for the weekend, my car died. Dead as a doornail. Cell phones were not around yet. Some kind people stopped to assist, but I wouldn't take a ride with them. I just told them to call my dad.
Someone did, and here came Dad in that red Blazer to rescue me once again. Somehow found me in the middle of nowhere.
One time when I flew the friendly skies home, I gave my parents the wrong airport. When I realized the error, I called home. Mom said Dad was already on his way to the wrong airport and for me to go catch the shuttle that would take me to the hotel close to my parents' house. So off I went, looking for this shuttle. Couldn't find the shuttle.
Went outside frustrated and sat on the curb. Low and behold, the red Blazer pulled up. It was Dad. How he knew I was there, I don't know. But he found me!
We have always had this sixth sense about each other. He always knew when I was hurt or in trouble.
In the late 1990s, he got a new red Blazer, that one that now sits silent in the garage, the one with which my son has always been fascinated.
Not long ago, on the way to the post office, a garbage truck ran a red light and hit my car hard. I walked away, sore and confused but otherwise. As soon as I walked in the door of my house, the
phone rang. It was Mom. She said Dad wanted her to call me. They had invited me to lunch, but I turned them down. I didn't say anything about the accident because I was still in shock. Mom hung up. Dad insisted for her to call me again. Mom told me they were on their way to my house and asked whether things were OK.
I said, "No, it's not OK, but I will tell you when you get here."
I wanted them to see I was OK before I told them I was hit by a garbage truck. I didn't want them to panic. But Dad knew. He knew I was hurt.
He insisted to come see me. He pulled up my driveway in that red Blazer. Once again to save the day.
He has always known what I was up to. I have always felt him here. I still do. I know he is up there watching over us.
Doesn't make it any easier.
- Kristen Pearson
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