Stop!
My brother was chasing me across the street and I had my team's treasure map in my pocket. I was NOT going to stop running from him. He was going to take it from me and I needed to protect it. After all, for a eight year old, on that day, it was the most important thing to protect. Caught up in the moment and the excitement, I kept on running.
Whack.
The next thing I knew I was being carried back towards my home like a little baby in my grandfather's arms. It was he who had seen the entire thing, and he who had picked me up off the street after being knocked unconscious. I had run directly into the side of a car!
My grandpa was probably my favorite relative. For some reason, we seemed to be connected. He's been gone now for over 40 years, but I still feel connected to him. I still miss him. If I could have chosen, he would have been my pick as my knight in shining armor. So I felt comforted on that day, when he was the one to carry me inside and gently deposit me onto the "chesterfield." That's what my grandparents used to call the couch.
In some ways, the next few hours were uncomfortable, and at the same time, as an eight year old, those hours were a little bit fun. I was the center of attention for several hours in a row. A stream of visitors came over to chat. My brother, my sister, my mother, my father, my grandma, they all took turns staying by my side. I don't remember much about any one conversation, but I do remember that I felt loved. I felt like my life was important.
Many people referred to this day as the day I got hit by a car. I don't. I call it the day I ran into a car. It was a day I will never forget, and perhaps one of my luckiest. I came away injury free, except for a few bumps and bruises. I guess it's true what they say about children being resilient.
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