A Sunday Morning Terror (that never happened- Just ask my Dad)

       My life is a peculiar one to me. I have moments that I feel could happen only to me. People who know me have even said as much. "Sumner, tell me about the time your dad ran over you while you were delivering papers." or "Sumner, tell me about the time that machine launched an 8 inch, 15 foot long tree 100 feet and it hit you in the chest." or "Sumner, tell me about the two times you got hit by a car on Virginia Beach Boulevard.". On and on I could go. Things seemed to happen to me. Some were due to my own carelessness and youth. Other's due to anothers carelessness and/or youth. I was rough on myself. I can't figure it out in retrospect but sometimes I felt like that guy in "Unbreakable". Lately, I've been thinking about it in a deeper way. I thought about it in a bit of a spiritual way. Like, what if God has your day already planned out? What if there truely is a plan for you that God only knows and a few of us are fortunate to understand? Then, while all of this predestination stuff is going on, you go about your "free will" kinda life. Doing what you desire to an extent. But there is a plan for you. Perhaps you have to interact with someone later in life that in turn, fulfills their purpose or You had a place to be years ahead you had no idea of or way to forsee.
   My point is all this unbelievable stuff you endure is actually God's grace saving you for what lies ahead. I'm sitting here as I type watching a documentary called "Chosin" about the survivors of a tremendous and traumatic experience during the Korean war. I sit and think of my life and relative to theirs I have nothing to tell. But nonetheless I have a life to live and a story to tell.
   The story of my dad running over me one cold and dark Sunday morning while delivering papers is one my dad denies ever happened. I sat on the back tailgate, wrapping and banding Sunday papers as dad drove slowly down the street and I tossed the pappers onto the walkways and driveways of my customers. Well, one street was done and Dad had to turn around to catch the next street on my route. He pulled into a driveway and upon backing out, the back of the truck dipped with the bumper inches from the street. My feet, which dangled off the tailgate became crushed between the road and the bumper as he backed out. When that happened combined with the truck backing up, I was quickly thrown off the tailgate and my face slapped the asphalt. I had no time to even think about my feet or my face as he continued to back up, oblivious to what was going on behind him. I rolled over, dazed, and realized the truck was backing over me. I quickly grabbed the bumper as it drug me with it while I screamed, "Dad!! Dad!!", but with the windows up and Frank Sinatra on the 8 track he couldn't here me. So, I continued to be drug back another 15 or so feet until he put it in drive and basically drove off.
   In serious pain and moaning from what amounted to twisting both ankles and slapping your face to the cold street, I managed to crawl to the curb and sit there until my Dad realized I wasn't back there tossing papers. He drove up to where I was sitting and rolled down his window. "What in da hell are you doin?", I looked up, tears in my eyes, holding my ankles, "You backed over me and took off.", not pausing a second he replied, "I did no such thing, here, let me help you in here." He came around and helped me into the truck. Saying not too much, he took me home, literally carried me upstairs to my bed and tucked me in. "I figure you ain't gotta go to Church this Sunday and since your feet hurt like you say, I'll finish the route.". That was an event lived only by myself and witnessed by no one. But it happened as all the other stuff I mentioned in the beginning of this post. Why share it all at once and spend all my ammo to keep your attention? As if my narcissism has any validity at all. I do love sharing my life though. My mother and sister say I should go into stand up comedy but it doesn't work like that. My humor is spontaneous and brought about by external triggers. To stand on a stage and be funny when those around you expect it is just too much. I like to say I am Mark Sumner all day long and what you get today is very much what you'll get tomorrow and aside from those flaws I am constantly working on, I can do no more than be myself.