The Helping Hand.

Once, when I was about, oh, maybe three months old, I got stuck in a car fire. My mother at the time was nineteen, and had locked the car doors at my grandparents' secluded farmhouse and went inside to pick up my diaper bag. See, my mother had a thyroid problem at that time and was always at the hospital getting tests done, so my grandmother took care of me. I was asleep the whole time, not knowing where I was, what I was doing, or what was going to happen. As I slept, dreaming of the things babies dream of, my car burst into flames. The engine and oil had a little dispute and decided to make a mountain out of a molehill, engulfing my car in flames. Not soon after I woke up to a loud BANG!, my mother was pulling me out, holding me to her chest and shudderring uncontrollably. Now, when my mother tells me this story, she stills blames herself for leaving me in the car. She even tells me how she busted the window just to grab me. If it weren't for my mom, I might not be here today... I'm very grateful, thankful, and very happy my mother helped me. I usually return the favor, helping my mom any way I can.

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