I transferred to a big school when I started Grade One, and being the new kid made me even more timid and scared — not just of the people around me, but of the unfamiliar surroundings. My Lolo used to bring me to school, and those early mornings often came with crying, whining, and lots of "Please don’t leave me here, Lolo!"
Eventually, Mommy found a school service for me. Still, Lolo would ride along with me inside the fiera, just because I asked him to.
Weeks passed, and I began to grow comfortable — especially with Lolo Boy, the kind and gentle school service driver. Soon, Lolo no longer had to come with me. At just seven years old, I had somehow become friends with a 30-something man who treated me like his own. Lolo Boy would carry my heavy bag through the school gate and wait for me patiently at dismissal. He made me feel seen. He made me feel special.
A few days after my 7th birthday, a 7.8 magnitude earthquake struck the country. I will never forget the horror of that day. I was inside the classroom when the shaking began. We were all crying, some of us praying out loud. I remember praying for Mommy or Daddy to come get me — even though I knew they were both at work.
And then came Lolo Boy.
He appeared like a hero, carrying me out just like a father would his frightened child. I felt safe. He rescued me.
We had to part ways when I turned grade five. I transferred to a new service that covers the route of the neighborhood that we had moved to. In a school year, I shifted to one service to another and another. I was looking for the father figure/savior in them that I had seen in Lolo Boy. Sadly, the comfort I found in Bus #7 is incomparable. Before I went to high school, we bid our goodbyes to each other, it was the last day I saw him.
Years passed. By Grade Five, I had to transfer to a new school service because we moved to a different neighborhood. In one school year, I jumped from one service to another, searching — hoping to feel the same comfort, the same safety I once had with Lolo Boy. But nothing compared to Bus #7.
Before high school, we said our goodbyes. That was the last time I saw him.
Fourteen years later, I still haven’t forgotten. The earthquake remains my most vivid memory of childhood — not just because of the fear, but because of the quiet hero who carried me through it. I told that story countless times to friends and relatives, and Lolo Boy was always the heart of it.
Just recently, I found his son, Alex, on Facebook. He told me they had moved to Las Vegas in 2002. When Alex told his dad about me, Lolo Boy remembered instantly. And guess what memory he shared? That very same day — July 16, 1990.
I realize now how much that moment shaped us both. It was more than an earthquake, it was the beginning of a bond that never really ended. Even after all this time.
Thank you, Lolo Boy. You’ll always be the hero I had as a child.
You are, and will always be, my earthquake hero.
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