In 1991 my second cousin was born. He was the oldest of the new generation. I was the last in the string of grandchildren.
They were throwing a baby shower for him at my great aunt’s house. My mom didn’t want me to come because I was young, bad and would start trouble. I was 7 at the time going into 2nd grade. My dad had one job. Keep me occupied and away from the place. First he took me to McDonald’s. I got a Rescue Rangers Dale toy and I was happy he was one I didn’t have. Then he took me to a Chuck E. Cheese for a while. After the trip to the Chuck E. Cheese he decided to take me to the baby shower to surprise my mom and to see my relatives there. When we got there my mom was pissed. I was not supposed to be there. They wanted to see me and let me stay.
The thing was that my aunt and great aunt lived directly across the street from each other. On a busy street. For some reason they kept having me cross the street back and fourth to their houses. I’d go to one house and they’d call me back to the other. It was very confusing. As I was leaving one house to go to the other they called me back while I was attempting to cross the street. I was not paying attention looking over to somebody calling for me at the porch. I don’t remember exactly what happened. It all happened so fast. I remember making eye contact with the driver, panicking and then hitting the hot asphalt. I had some scrapes and burns. I was more upset about ruining my cool new outfit than getting hit by the car. It was a really nice one piece thing with long shorts and faux skirt over them in a burgundy color. Very trendy for fall 1991.
My great aunt called 911, and the fire department came. The firefighter saw a cake on the table and thought she was having a birthday party, but we said it was a baby shower. They said I didn’t have any broken bones.
When we were home my dad come back with food and some Neosporin. I got another Happy Meal this time a different one a 101 Dalmatians one. I got the Lucky toy. I still have it as a reminder of the the day I got hit by a car. (pic not of my toy)
I like to joke around with my cousin and tell him that I ruined his baby shower by getting hit by a car.
One of the few times they actually liked my story in that class. I was too young for their taste because I didn’t write about WWII or the Iranian Revolution of 1979. Two world events I was not even alive for. They made me think I was too young to be a writer, but now I don’t care because I’m old.