More Three stuff

In 1954 my two sisters, mother, and I were riding with my Uncle John Shaw and his wife Margie to visit another uncle. I was four years old. Margie was ‘heavy with child’. It was night. We were trying to make a left turn off the highway onto the road which led to my uncle’s house. We were rear-ended by a speeding car.

I was thrown from the wreck upon impact. My Uncle John found me but I wasn’t breathing. He stood me up but I slumped to the ground, still lifeless. He stood me up again, and I fell to the ground again. The third time he stood me up, my breath came to me in a rush. He then hurried to get everyone else out of the car, which by now, was engulfed in flames.

My mother received severe burns on her legs, but my month-old sister, Carla was unhurt. My older sister, Betty Ann, was trapped beneath the back seat, but he got her out. Later, we discovered she had a broken collar-bone but was otherwise okay.

Aunt Margie, and her unborn child, perished the next day from the severity of her burns. My Uncle John received severe burns to his face (especially his ears), arms and hands. He and my mother carried their scars for many years.

The drunk driver who rear-ended us was unhurt. He walked away from the crash. Four adults and four children involved in a crash. Three adults survived, one perished. Three children survived, one perished. It has a certain symmetry I suppose.

I don’t know if Uncle John ever received any medals during his Army career, but to my mind, he deserves one for that night. He certainly earned one, at the cost of a wife and child. He certainly earned one.

Three years later, in 1957, my parents, two sisters and I went on a family vacation to visit friends at a mission post on an Indian reservation outside Ponca City, Oklahoma. It was our first family vacation. We were all very excited.

I was fresh off a critically acclaimed (primarily, my mother) performance as the Little Bear in my school’s spring production of “Goldilocks and the Three Bears”. That’s probably why she had me sing at the service in the little mission church. I’m sure I sang that song with all the gusto my seven-year-old body could muster, though I’m not sure how much comprehension of the lyric I truly possessed. The song was “The Old Rugged Cross”. I still remember most of the words. But today they have much more meaning.

On a hill far away (Is it really so far?)
Stood an Old Rugged Cross (It still stands for me…all three of those crosses)
The emblem of suffering and shame (My shame…His suffering)
Still I love that old Cross (More dearly…More clearly…every day!)
Where the dearest and best (Poetic…but doesn’t do Him justice)
For a world of lost sinners was slain (But I take it personally!)
So I’ll cherish the Old Rugged Cross (with every fiber of my being)
Til my trophies at last I lay down (however great or small they may be)
I will cling to the Old Rugged Cross (with every breath I take)
And exchange it some day for a crown (a used-up body for a new one…
Topped with a shiny new crown….priceless!)