In 1969, I had a paper route with 112 papers. An 11 year old kid, I went to the corner 7-11 (at the time, it was only open from 7am to 11pm) at 5am, put rubber bands around the papers, jammed them into my basket and rode off to deliver. On this one morning, I did ok until I hit the main road while trying to cross before a slow moving semi beat me. My tires hit ice, I went down, and my bike slid to a stop as the semi skidded above and over me. I vividly recall the view of the bottom of that truck. I grabbed a piece of metal and held my bike tight between my knees as the truck dragged me another 10 feet or so before it stopped. The poor driver pulled me and my bike out from between his eight rear wheels…the trailer extended behind. His face was ashen and his language was…appropriate to the moment. I went back to the closed store with my bike and called my mother on the pay phone who, as she had on many snowy mornings before and after, drove me to complete my route.My compliments and sympathies to those who provide service and comfort to their neighbors in exchange of poor tips and low pay. My eternal gratitude is extended to mothers who are there for ungrateful brats like me who have to grow to a ripe age before really appreciating the love of a mother.Respectfully,C.