I’ve had an awful lot of luck in my life, and occasionally some of it has been good.
I’m not real big on miracles though, but last weekend I witnessed several in as many minutes and have been rethinking my stance on them.
Miracle #1: I got both green lights on Philip Street! Honestly!
Miracle #2: Slipped straight through the Kin Kora roundabout!
A small voice in my head muttered, “Oh, you’ll pay for this.” But frankly I didn’t care. The sun was shining, a good song was playing on the radio, and we… BAM!
Mr. Motocross roared into the six inch gap between us and the car travelling alongside.
Miracle #3: He made it! Although I’m not sure how?
“Dad he’s on the wrong side of the road!” yelled The Littlest Princess. As cars scattered, Long Suffering Wife mumbled, “Stupid thickhead!”, or something like that.
Miracle #4: He missed every vehicle! Again, no idea how?
A sharp left turn was followed by an impressive wheel-stand, then a dash for the suburbs. He’d have made it too if the gutter, two large garden rocks and a fence hadn’t stopped him.
Miracle #5: He wasn’t killed. But he looked pretty crook, in a foot pointing backwards kind of way.
As the Police, Paramedics and groups of slack-jawed onlookers arrived, I speculated about the numerous unfortunate decisions and actions that had led to all of us being involved in this prang.
Fate? Destiny? Chance? Look, I don’t really know, but it was a miracle things hadn’t been much, much worse. Plus I’d stopped thinking about how queasy my stomach was feeling.
And there was hope for the future too. Well, having cracked one run of green lights along Philip Street, perhaps I’d get another someday?
Or would that be pushing my luck?