This is an updated version of a post I wrote awhile back called “Good Samaritans And Blessings”. I did some editing on the post. The post is about me, the good Samaritans that helped me, and the blessings that happened out of an accident. I was around 5 or 6 at the time.
I don’t know what triggered the memory of the accident I had when I was five years old and in the first grade. I wasn’t doing anything to remind me of the incident-there was no red Volkswagen Beetle nearby and I didn’t see a pink and white check dress to remind me of my favorite dress I was wearing at the time. I wasn’t crossing the street in between cars to remind me of the experience. The memory just came.
My Mom had sent me to the store for a loaf of bread. I was fairly responsible for a five year old; so I knew to to look both ways before crossing a street, not to jay walk, and not to cross the street from between cars. I did not disobey any of those rules on the way to Rund’s Meat Market on Wabash Avenue, but for some reason after I came out I didn’t follow the rules that I had been taught.
I had the loaf of bread with me as I walked between two parked cars to cross the street after coming out of the store. The next thing I knew, I felt something hit me, and I was seeing black. I don’t know how I did it, but I crawled back to the curb and sat on it. I didn’t hear the store owner come out of the store, but I did recognize his voice as he asked me if I was okay. I don’t remember what I told him, bit I got an RC Cola out of it-free of charge.
After a few minutes the blackness left me. I looked at my favorite dress. It was torn and I was upset about it, because I wouldn’t be able to wear it again.
I don’t remember much after that, but my dad remembered that I was raising a considerable fuss. No matter how hard the ambulance workers tried to talk me, I wasn’t going to get in the ambulance, because they were strangers. The Policeman at the scene offered to take, but I didn’t want to go with them for the same reason. A compromise was reached dad would go with me and the policemen to the hospital. I do remember daddy holding me in the police car as we headed to the hospital.
Mom told me later that she couldn’t recall the person’s name who came to the house to tell dad and her that I gotten hit by a car. I don’t remember having told anyone where I lived. It could of been someone who knew my family.
I don’t recall the emergency room, but my mom did The doctor Mom all I had were scrapes and bruises. He also said that getting hit by the car was a blessing in disguise, because I had walking pneumonia and may have died before anyone knew it. Mom considered the car hitting me to be a blessing.
I did recall the hospital stay. I didn’t like spending a week there. I didn’t like the shots in the butt either, because it was hard to sit down afterwards.
When I recall the incident now, I smile and think about the Good Samaritans who helped us during the accident. I can now laugh at how I acted. Nobody remembers what happened to the loaf of bread, but I think someone got the blessing of it. Yes, I thank God for the blessings from that accident.
Just in case you’re wondering how I remember the red Volkswagen Beetle hitting me, I didn’t. Mom and dad told me later. The person driving the car was there talking to the police when they came to the scene of the accident. Mom says she was grateful it wasn’t a bigger car, because if the car had been bigger, I could have been hurt much worse.
This memory also makes me think all of us should be Good Samaritans and be a blessing to others. Don’t you think so?