Saturday, April 25, 2009
Super Heroes
They fight crime and chase away the boogie man. They have the answers to anything and protect you from everything. When they are needed they can be there in lightening speed. They can read minds and find you when you are lost. They are the land movers and the music makers. They are the world’s superheroes. But even superheroes have bad days.
On May 3, 2007 my superhero just so happened to take a vacation with his friends down in Lake Powell, Utah. That day for me had started out cold and wet, not to mention bad. I was on my way to work, and I was only minutes away when I passed the duck pond at the Metro Business Park. On the left side of the road there was a brown speckled colored duck. A white worker van was approaching the duck. Instead of slowing down like most drivers, the van driver continued on, startling the duck. To avoid getting hit by the white van, the duck flew up into the air. However, the duck made a big mistake. Instead of flying away from the cars, he flew in front of my car. It was too late. I heard a huge thunk. I hit a duck. I could not believe it. I had hit a duck. I pulled over and got out of my car. I looked around. There was no duck in sight. I know I hit the duck. I heard it. Where it went, I had no idea. That was my first sign that the day had no where to go but down hill.
When I arrived at work I was helping out in the warehouse instead of my usual routine of talking to customers on the phones. Shortly before lunch I was getting ready to clean up the project I was working on so that I could go eat. I heard the foot steps coming in my direction but choose not to look up. I assumed it was one of the warehouse workers coming to pull a gown off the shelves.
“Shanene!” yelled Natasha. I looked up. I knew something was wrong the moment she said my name. I could hear the panic in her voice. The first thing that came to mind was my grandfather. He is almost eighty-three. I thought “it must be time.”
But it wasn’t my grandfather. It was my dad. He had a massive stroke. But that couldn’t be right. He is only fifty-seven. That is still young. He is always moving and working hard. This is the man who goes up to the Uintas every weekend in the summer to go backpacking. He is the one who would take just a backpack up in the mountains for a week at a time so he could make it to King’s Peak. He was my dad. This couldn't happen to him. He is invincible.
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