The scare of my life

I HAD the scare of my life when I arrived home yesterday afternoon.

After motoring, and being forced to step on the gas to beat the slight drizzle that greeted me upon reaching the San Felipe-Pacol boundary, I found my mobile phone ringing and tried to catch the call, to no avail. It has registered seven missed calls from two numbers, one by Erning Elcamel and the other from an unknown caller.

I know something was amiss. The phone rang again. It was Erning anew, who quickly told me my child is at the city hospital. I called my wife, who hurriedly changed. My mind was racing on the possibilities: finding out that everything is OK at home, it can only be my eldest.

The phone rang yet again, this time from that unidentified caller: it was Romy Saripe, a driver assigned at the City Hospital. He confirmed what Erning told me, and said my son is OK. But deep inside, I still had doubts -- after seeing too many movies that ended up otherwise -- and because I've never been through this situation before.

Ditching the motorbike, I drove our car as fast as I can, and we reached the City Hospital in a little over 10 minutes. A PUJ was parked infront. Romy was there, so was the jeepney driver. In the corner, Ezekiel was sitting on a bench, holding a bottle of medicine that the driver bought, with mefenamic acid tablets to boot.

Apparently, my son tried to cross the street in front of Cam High, hoping to catch the homebound Pacol Urban jeepney moving in the other lane. But he failed to see the incoming PUJ, which was fortunately moving slowly because it was rush hour. There was a hole in his right pant, a scratch on his leg and a gash on his left arm, but he is otherwise fine. And that, to a scared father, is the most important thing. We do still have a lot to be thankful about.:)