I developed the bad habit of getting hit by moving cars when I was young. I have been hit a total of 3 times in my life. The first time I was hit I was in 2nd grade. I was walking home from school and came to a 4 way stop. There was a car coming, but she had her blinker on to turn right, so I started to cross the street. Apparently, she was just going around the world to the right and had no intention of either turning, slowing down or stopping so she hit me instead. I flew through the air, but was fortunate enough to land on some one's front lawn, rather than the sidewalk or street. I must have gone unconscious because when I opened my eyes I remember seeing the woman who hit me screaming hysterically and the police running over to me. A lot of that portion is hazy, I know an ambulance came, they took me to the hospital, my brother was there, my Mom quickly arrived - and miraculously I hadn't broken a bone. I was very bruised up and had a lot of cuts and scrapes, as well as a big bump on the head - but I was okay.
I stayed home for a couple of weeks recuperating. I do remember that it felt like Christmas. One of the guys my Mom was dating kept bringing me Archie comics (my favorite) and M&Ms. My class all made me cards, and neighbors kept bringing in goodies as well. I remember thinking this wasn't so bad - watch TV all day, no school, get presents - all for letting someone drive their car into me. Okay, maybe it sounds kind of bad when I put it that way - but I was 8 - Archie comics were the ultimate.
A few weeks after I was pronounced healed and ready to return to school I encountered the same problem - but with a twist. My Mom had Delia (I can't believe I remember her name), her accountant over to help her with taxes. For some reason Delia didn't have her car and so she needed to drive her home. My Mom and Delia were in the front of the beautiful Pinto wagon, Marc and his friend Andy had climbed into the back and I was in the process of climbing in when my Mom said, "Everyone in?" Someone must have said yes because she started to drive away. The problem was I was only halfway in when she took off - so I fell out of the car, smacked my head on the sidewalk and screamed while she managed to run over my leg. I remember that for some reason I was mad at Marc, so when my Mom asked who should sit in the back with me while we drove to the hospital I said Andy. I bet Marc was really upset about that! I also remember being really worried about my shoes. I had just received, thanks to the previous collision gift extravaganza, a pair of navy blue shoes. These weren't just any shoes - they were the cool shoe for any 2nd grade girl in Eugene. They had this fabulous 2 inch thick wavy sole. I felt fabulous in them and I was worried that the blood was going to ruin them. (A girl has her priorities, after all.)
I distinctly remember two things from the Emergency Room. First, I remember the doctors asking me what happened. I said, "My Mom ran over me." I remember seeing my Mom cover her face with her hands while the doctors and nurses turned and looked at her. Second, I remember the doctor asking me how I felt. I asked, "Are my shoes okay?" He told me that wasn't important. WHATEVER! These were totally cool shoes - I didn't like the doctor after that.
My third brush with the automobile industry happened not too long ago. Bob and I were loading groceries into our car when a woman backed into me - knocking me down. It scared me more than anything, but I felt very annoyed when the woman said "This is so scary for me." I am sure that it was scary for her - but she shouldn't be complaining to the woman she just hit with her car. I had a sore hip and a bad attitude for the rest of the night - but no other damage.
I feel that I have maxed out my lifetime supply of car "strike-ability" and hope that this is not some weird DNA thing that I may have passed on to my girls.