Part 7:

Normal. That is what I really want as I wake on Thursday. I know people climb mountains, go white water rafting and jump out of perfectly good airplanes for a rush. I have done these things. They are a rush. I need normal. The adrenaline/stress of the incident (my 7 year old calls it that) has my face breaking out and canker sores in my mouth. Just some normal please.

Today I am going back to work. I have finally slept and I need to get out of the house. My first stop every morning is the Crystal Flash near my office for the much needed Diet Coke. A must anyday. As I walk in, both gals behind the counter recognize me right away and I can tell in an instant they saw the paper or news and realized that was me. As I pay, all she says is how glad she is that me and my family are ok. Me too.

Walking into the office, heading down the hall, getting my computer on, normal. I have to tell the story three or four more times and that is ok. These people see me everyday. They crave information. As I work in sales for a construction company, I am ready for the abuse. Buttocks jokes are expected. Actually, they are going to give me some heal time before they really let me have it. I am sure there is plenty to come but this day, smiles, nods and from a few of the women in the office, a hug.

Sitting at my desk I begin to reenter the world. Answer some work related emails. Check calendars for things I was going to have done earlier in the week. But is is very hard. How to make work matter when the most important things in your life to do matter were so much in harms way? Needless to say, not my best day. But closer to normal.

That night everyone is back in the swing of things and school is the topic at dinner, not carjacking or bullet holes or even buttocks.

Friday is not unlike Thursday. A little more normal. Friday is usually movie night, especially for the boys. Often they are up stairs with a Star Wars or Disney movie and we are downstairs with some TiVo from earlier in the week. Not this movie night. We all enjoy the movie together.

Saturday we are planning a 'normal' Saturday. That means haircuts, grocery, bank, a few other stops and home for a nap and then something on the grill for dinner. The day goes well.

We have gone to the same barber shop for the boy's entire life so they all know us and I am certain that when we walk in they will start talking about it. I pray that they do not. We have agreed to not talk about it all day. Deal.

Entering, they all stop and look, smiles of concern and happiness that we are ok but no words. Another of God's provisions. As each boy climbs into their seat for their turn, I casually walk up to talk about what kind of haircut we need, which is the same every time, and whisper that we are not talking about it today we are just having a normal day. They all understand. As we leave, the boys and my wife are heading out when a few approach me quietly telling me how much they had been praying for us and how glad they are the we are ok. I could feel the prayers I tell them as our normal day continues.

At the grocery the boys are in one of those grocery carts that are like a race car and when we get out to look at the lobsters my oldest leans back in and tells me he is taking out the keys so nobody will carjack the cart. He says in a way that is so adult in his understanding yet childlike in its meaning. As we leave for the car they pretend that people are shooting at them and then one gets shot but he is ok since it was just in his buttocks.

Tom and I talk that night and agree that there is no way to not talk about what has happened. We have 90 adults and 130 kids in our church (I think). EVERYONE knows. We agree that there is no way to tell the story but rather to talk about how we are doing and to give some thanks for all of the prayers, meals, cards, etc. I am prepared to be emotional so my only request is a box of tissue on the stage.

I take a little longer than I planned and held together better than I thought. Zero tissues. This is when I also give the address for the blog. I have the event written and Tom and I agree that people will be able to get some closure and answers by reading what I have to say.

Now the service starts and my interview from Davenport makes it in the sermon. So do some other things from our event. Then the emotions hit my wife and I. Two tissues. Some of the worship songs are so touching. More tissue. I cannot sit so I am in the back when some says something about how the boys must have felt in the car. Give me the box of tissue. Kylene goes and grabs a few handful for her, my wife and me. Total tissue count: A lot.

After service there are hugs. Mom's coming up crying to give me a hug, no words exchanged. Dad's doing the same. Even a few of the older kids. I am, at this point, mercifully, out of tears. Smiles and hugs.

We are home and safe at 1:45 Sunday this week. The time comes and the time goes. Sunday goes on like a regular Sunday. Naps. Prepare for group. Read some of the paper. Normalish.

Group on Sunday is great. I dominate the study time talking about everything that has happened. There are still more questions, which is good. It will help us all move on. For those not in Cross Pointe, group is a weekly gathering of friends to share a meal and Bible Study.

By the time I sleep on Sunday, a full week has now past and I am able to close my eyes and have the normal things running through my head again. What do I have to do in the morning, who do I owe a call, etc. Still bits and pieces flash in my mind but now I feel better able to control them instead of the other way around.

As I drift off to sleep, I feel a warmth through my body. I feel ... normal.

Part 6:

Wednesday has the family heading back towards normal. The wife to work and the boys back to school. I am not ready for the outside world yet. As everyone is getting ready to leave, my friend Tom comes to visit. Tom, as I think I mentioned earlier, is also the pastor at our church.

Once the family is out the door we start talking. Mostly it is a lot of me jabbering, crying, angry, confused, all of that. Tom helps me with the biggest question I am struggling with:

Why me and my family?

Often you hear of terrible things happening to good people. The family does not make it, the bullet kills someone, etc. Why me with these amazing results?

Tom helps me gather some clarity. And I provide him with some material for his sermon the next Sunday as in the middle of all this I do a radio interview for a station in Davenport, IA. They are in shock about the whole event. Of course, they already know the story but as I have found, hearing it from me or my wife makes it all the more terrifying for the listener.

Tom was beyond helpful during our conversation and I feel I am not giving it it's due. I intend to contact him to expand upon it in Tom's words. Look for that update in the coming days.

As Tom leaves I am felling a million times better and I am totally emotionally exhausted. I think I will sleep tonight. A few more phone calls in and return a few from the machine and suddenly it is mid-day. Both boys have called from school upset and both know that if they need to came home I will be there in 5 minutes.

The seven year old tells me he is thinking of what could have happened. Readers, I have also struggled with this and it will always be lurking around the corner but I know that how it happened was God's plan and his plan is perfect. After talking with my oldest son, he still wants to eat lunch and go to recess and since today is PE he does not want to miss that and by the time we finish talking there is no way he is going to come home early. A call from the 4 year old is almost the same and happens about three minutes after the first call. We agree that I will pick him up early today at 3:30.

Christine from church calls and tells me she is bringing dinner and when will I be there so she can drop it off. Her way of helping. I tell her I will see her at noon. And if you get the chance, the baked spaghetti pie is delicious.

My cell phone rings again it is the Montel Williams show. Note to readers: All of these shows have blocked caller ID so if that pops up, you can guess they are from one of the national shows. There is your tidbit of weird info.

Anyway, Doug from the show has me tell him the story, asks a few questions and let's me know that he is going to run it by his boss and we can go from there. He too has gotten the two rules about the story. The kids are not to be part of it and we are going to share our message about God watching over my family. We have not heard back. My wife and I think we still might. we can be one of those people on the 'Amazing Moments' shows or something.

As the everyone gets home and while we have had a dinner delivered, my 4 year old had, for some reason, decided he really wants to go to the new Culver's. After everything that has happened, we load up and head to Culver's. When we are there we run into a few of my olders son's classmates with their parents. I know some of them know what has happened but I get that look I am now used to, it is the 'I want to ask but I do not know you that well and I cannot believe it even happened to you and I am so glad your family is ok' look. I just smile.

Wednesday night finds the boys in bed a their regular time and my wife retires a little early. I am downstairs later and I finally hit the wall. I know I will sleep this night because my body has nothing left. The adrenaline is gone, the emotions out, the event has replayed so many times in my mind that finally, for brief periods, I can think of something else. Anything else.

As I make my way to bed, I close my eyes and sleep. No dreams, good or bad. It is a deep, restful sleep as God has provided for me yet again that which I needed.

Tomorrow I plan to go to work, God willing.

Part 5:

Monday ends for me somewhere around 3:00 or so in the morning but I am able to sleep until almost 8:00 so that is getting better. Today is the day of the Inside Edition interview and as seems to be the case in all things when you have young kids, we are running late. Showers for the boys, who will not be part of the interview but should at least look nice. A phone call at about 8:15 is from a radio station in Ontario, Canada and they want me to do an interview on the phone at 9:45. Sure. I am a big star in Canada!

Before that interview, the phone rings and Inside edition is running late (yea) and will get back to us later about when they will be at the house. This is a relief for both of us and we continue to get ready and answer the phone. Again and again and again....

The interview with our brothers to the North goes well and I am given a bit of perspective. The story before me is about the amazing young autistic (I think) boy that came off the bench and score 20 points in his high school game. That is a story that is 16 or 17 years in the making and gives me chills. It is great to hear about kids that are doing amazing things. God works in so many ways.

We wait and wait, but suddenly we are old news to Inside Edition and to this day we have not heard another word from them. Not part of God's plan. At 2:30 I have an appointment with my family doctor to look at the bullet wound and see how I am doing over all.

Dr. Bercovitz starts by asking how I am doing mentally and how is the rest of the family. Readers, to be honest, I was not well at all. The wife and kids were sleeping through the night but I was only getting a few hours a night. The exhaustion was taking it toll as was the retelling of the story so many times that I now had three versions. A long one for those that wanted all of the details, a medium one for concerned but busy people and a really quick one to just describe why I needed whatever it was I was asking for. 'I was carjacked with my kids in the car and when I chased down the thief, he shot me.' Kind of to the point.

Dr B. can see that I am not mentally sound but he knows it is still really fresh. He seems confident that I will be ok through my faith but should I need to talk to someone he could be that person or arrange for a professional if needed. Thanks.

Now for the wound. I am certain that he does not get a lot of gunshot wounds so he is very interested in entrance, exit, bruising, etc. Things look good (in that the wound is healing) and with a prescription for some Keflex for infection we are good. Oh, and a tetanus shot.

After a quick stop to get the medicine I am home. It is great to be back with everyone and things are feeling a little normal.

Ok, confession time. The Indianapolis Star had a feedback opportunity from the story or a discussion thread or something like that. Whatever, a place for people to post comments. I have been reading it. Often. Most of the comments are kind, even if they are saying things like how often you hear about leaving your keys in the car is a great way to get your car stolen. Some of the comments are very cruel. 'I should have my children taken away, I am a terrible parent, etc.' People are entitled to their opinions and I would agree that leaving the car running with the keys in it and the kids in the car, when you say it like that, is a terrible idea. I think everyone would agree. Ok, I can live with that. Then, a true idiot weighs in.

TylerDurden12. This moron has the following to say:

"He got shot in the back while running away from people that kidnapped his children. Yeah, he's real brave..."

This is when I lost it. I posted a response explaining to this 12 IQ individual the facts. Needless to say, that was the last this loser had to say.

Tuesday night, I see a note on this posting page from MrMoses and I know that is one of my best friends Scott. He is responding to one of the meaner people and he has the nicest things to say about me and my family, my walk with God, our friendship. Well, that did it. At about 11:30 I called him and just started crying. If reading his post was what was going to make my emotions erupt, he was going to have to listen to me cry. A lot. Laying on the floor in my TV room crying my eyes out, almost unable to breathe. Finally the emotions of it all rush over me. After an hour, I know he has to work tomorrow and I am exhausted. I let him sleep.

Kevin, however, is not as fortunate. He has informed me through a text message that he is still up and not working the next day. For the next two hours Kevin listens, hardly given much opportunity to say anything. This is when I notice a bizarre thing happening. I am sometimes unable to remember where I was in the story or what part I was talking about if I get off topic. I have told it so many times to so many people it is getting all jumbled up. Kevin must endure this for 2 hours Tuesday night. Through it all, he is great.

Sleep Tuesday comes at about 3:30 and the emotions are not all out.

Part 4:

The phone wakes us at 6:30 in the morning. I do not get up that early on a work day, far less after the longest day of my life. My wife looks over at the caller ID and tells me it is WIBC radio from here in Indianapolis. Fine, I will take the call. After reminding the caller that it is really early, I proceed to tell the story again, practically asleep. If you heard it (I did not) I am sure I sounded like I felt. After the call, my wife and I lie in bed and continue to talk through what happened. The people, all of the places God was so involved. Phone, keys, person getting lost....It is too long of a list.

Around 7:15 I call the office and this is when I first hear about being in the paper. They understand I will be out for a few days but almost seem in disbelief. Not of me and my story but that I have such a story at all. A call from my wife's work and with it info that we are not just in the paper, we are on the front page. As she tells me that, I ask the ever important question. "Above the fold?" Yes, we are the top story.

Next a call to Firestone about the Trailblazer. $158.95 to get a new tire. This poses a bit of a problem in that we have canceled all of our credit cards and put a hold on our checking account. My wife's father had left one hundred dollars and if needed we could go to the bank, deal with all of the hassle and get the money before getting the car. At about 8:00 we head downstairs and it starts.

The phones are ringing. A lot!

My cell and our land line. Eric, Jane, Megan, Scott, the list is incredible. Friends that I had seen Saturday night to friends we have not talked to in years. Everyone wanted to make sure we were ok, see if they could do anything, come to grips with the fact this happened to a friend. I have said many times that this seemed like the kind of thing that not only never happens to you, it does not happen to someone you know.

One of the calls is from a sweet woman who tells me she lives right by where this happened and when she read the story in the paper she just felt she had to do something for the boys. She politely asks if she and the pastor from her church can come by about 10:30 with some toys for the boys and a gift for us. Of course.

Though this all, the kindness of others has been amazing.

She arrives with stuffed animals, match box trucks and cars and a card for my wife and I. After the boys tear into the gifts and we talk for a moment, we say a prayer and they are gone. Inside the envelope is $60. God has now provided for us $160 for the $158.95 tire we need. He is amazing.

At around 11:30 I decide to head for the bank and begin to deal with everything. New account, new debit cards, etc. As I am standing in line, Inside Edition calls my cell. As I talk to them, the tellers are picking up parts of what I am saying and the looks in there eyes is now one with which I am becoming used to. Shock. Awe. Fear. Amazement.

John at the bank has not watched the news or seen the paper so when I tell him I need to get a new account, he asks why I think that might be necessary. He got the short version as we started working on changing things over. Inside Edition calls again and want to do the story that day and get an exclusive. I am not comfortable with the exclusive part because I feel this is a story about how great God is and I want to tell everyone. After consulting my friend, I agree to the interview but not the exclusive. Ok, they will there that night. A call later and they will be there Tuesday at 10:00. Ok, see you then.

After lunch we pile into the Acura, I guess facing one of the many hurdles we will try to get over in the coming days and weeks. Back into the car that 24 hours earlier had been stolen with the boys in back. I feel weird. There is still some dust from the crimelab where they had lifted prints the night before. Same for the steering wheel. Loaded in the car with the doors locked, we back out of the garage. Hurdle cleared.

The Trailblazer is on the lot at Firestone and after paying, we are off to check it out. I had looked at the door at the scene, but now I could really look at it. I felt sick to my stomach. The first hole was so far forward in the door and you can see the angle of it through the console (thanks Tammy) and where it hit me. There is blood on the seat. My blood. The 4 year old looks at it and asks if that is mine from my buttocks. Sure is buddy I smile, so proud of how brave they have both been through all of this. It is now that I remember that the camera is in the Acura packed in with the stuff for the swim party. Might as well get a few pictures.

Bullet hole in the door. From the inside. In the console. Out of the console. Where it exited the console. A picture with the boys pointing to the holes. Family keepsakes. I will try to post them later. As the bullet went through the console, it his a tin of Altoids pretty clean. Regular hole in and big exit of shredded metal. It provides a very graphic image of the shooting.

From here we are off to Pedigo Chevrolet, which is where we bought the car and is also approved by my insurance. After dropping the car off, we are heading back to my car to head for home when my wife says, "Should we go see if Stan is here?" Stan is not only the guy that sold us the car but he lives in our neighborhood. I am confident he has heard about what happened. As we walk in, I feel what it is like to be known. A few of the people stop to look, one just asks if we are ok. Stan has the look of a father that cannot believe such a thing can happen two blocks from his house.

He asks how we are doing and I tell him a lie and say we are fine. The car is here to get fixed and he asks if we need a car. I said yes, for a few days until we can figure out how long the other car will....Before I can finish he turns to one of the other guys standing around looking at us, verifying that it really is the guy from the paper/TV/radio. Three guys take off and in 5 minutes Stan hands me the keys to a 2006 Trailblazer with dealer plates and tells me to keep it until the other car is fixed. God put Stan in our lives in August when we bought that car and realized he lives around the corner. We had no idea when we walked in six months ago. Stan apologizes for it being a little low on fuel. Are you kidding? Another great person in all of this.

At home there are eight or nine messages on the machine and they are almost all the same.

"Hi, it's _________ and I just wanted to call and make sure you guys are ok. I saw/read/heard about what happened and just wanted to let you know that if there is anything you guys need, please do not hesitate to ask. When things calm down, please call. Bye."

Monday night we go out for dinner and I think that people are looking at me different. In reality, I am looking at them different trying to see if they are looking at me different and that makes them look at me differently. Clear on that?!

That night I sleep for a only a few hours, the image of the car racing down the driveway with my boys in the back and my wife's screams keep sleep away for hours. We plan to spend Tuesday doing little, after the interview in the morning that is, getting back to the bank and whatever other things God may have planned for us.

Part 3:

Now this thing is really starting to get crazy. WTHR is first, and while we are talking FOX-59 is parked out front. During the first TV interview, I am talking through what happened and as I approach the part about where I was shot, a sudden blank appears in my head. How to describe where I was shot? Butt, bottom, rear end, a**. Not that for sure. Suddenly I remember what was on the website. Raygan had written 'buttocks'. Then, I said it. Well, in another part of God's great plan, this comment created some much needed humor. Going forward for the first few days, as I was telling the story to visitors, I would ask my 4 year old where I got shot and he would smile the greatest smile and say "You got shot in your buttocks." Now, I am sure a few of you have seen Forrest Gump and as the days progressed, many friends and fraternity brothers were kind enough to remind me of the fact he also was shot in the buttocks.

The interviews with the other stations go well and suddenly I am the lead for every newscast in the city (except for WISH-TV 8 and I bet someone there got in a bit of trouble). It was 'the terrifying story of a father rescuing his children from a carjacker' or something like that.

I will freely admit that I not only watched the shows but TIVO'ed the others. And yes, they are still there today. I am finding that I need to know all of the info to be able to process this and watching me helped. By the way, I know I am a bit overweight but there is nothing like seeing your face and gut on the tube to bring it all together. I have vowed to lose at least 20 pounds before being shot again.

Thinking the night is over and with the boys in bed and asleep and all of the news people gone, my wife and I are still going through details when the phone rings. It is the police and they are ready to release both cars. If we cannot get down there soon, they will be towed to the impund lot. Great, like we need that. He also wants her to look over her purse and confirm the details of what is missing. This means that after everything she has been through today, her day is not over. A wonderful neighbor Charlie (she) agrees to take her downtown to get my car, which is drivable, and sign for AAA to tow her car to the Firestone downtown so in the AM we can get a new tire.

After waiting too long for AAA, they finally arrive and get the Trailblazer. During her wait, my wife has a chance to talk with Harry the CSI guy. This is when we find out he has stayed late into the night to process the cars. This means we get a car back right away and not three days later. And she had to ask, 'How much of that stuff on CSI is true?' He said 40%.

Her night ends around 12:30 as she heads to bed. No such luck for me. I think I finally closed my eyes around 2:30 or so. Exhaustion beats fear and I sort of sleep.

I had no idea how early the next day was going to start.

Part 2:

And by weird, I mean the things that happen after an event like this. By the way, if you have not read the first post, you might want to start there or this will not make as much sense, if it makes sense at all.

First, it is that my mother and father-in-laws are going to be the first family to get to me at the hospital. Before them, I have actually been waiting for about 15 minutes when the phone in Trauma 7 rang. I opted not to answer it since I was just the guy in T7. The nurse came in and answered the phone only to ask if I was Tom and to hand me the phone?!

It was Bob, my Brother-In-Law (BIL) and he was not happy. Bob and I have not always seen eye to eye and I think a lot of that had to do with being the big brother of my wife (by like 7 years) and knowing how things in the world work and having met me as a long(ish) haired, punk kid in college. When Bob had kids and his life was a mess with kids toys everywhere (you earned it Bob) we were so able to connect. Step on a block or two, or have your sweet little baby tell others that you pass gas in the car, it makes us a lot more human. We have been great since he had the kids. Bob is really upset about what has happened to me and my family. So am I, but this is the first time since it has ended emotion has entered. And his is true family emotion. Anger. Frustration. Vengeance.

The next thing is a nurse who comes in to see what is going on (I guess). As I mentioned, Tim was great. I was naked and sitting under a blanket, sort of on my side thinking, 'Well, my In-laws are going to be here soon and I do not need this...' Tim understood. I asked him for some scrubs to put on and he was quick to take care of me, noting that they are great to lounge around in when not at work. The nurse entered and was deeply concerned that 'the patient' had been dismissed. When I turned around and she saw all of the bandages on my arm she realized I was the patient. And then she looks at me with a strange, caring, almost proud expression.

This is bigger than I think.

Soon after the in-laws my parents arrive. My mom is so scared at what has happened she actually is mad at me. Not out loud, just mad. We have all seen this in our parents. It took me a few days to understand but now it makes a little more sense. I am her baby. Forever. Think about your kids. They are young now but as they get older we do not think they are less 'ours'. Maybe even more ours. Nan and Bill are scared. Their achiever, overweight, two kids and a wife son is not to get his car stolen, with his kids in it, and then get shot.

The ride home from the hospital is another gift from above. It is a chance to ride with my parents and let them get it out. But instead, they sat quiet and understood I needed to get it out. I talk. I am not sure what I was saying but I am a talker. I need to get it out. This writting is part of that.

As we all get home, it is becoming real. My wonderful 4 year old has come home and is watching a movie. As a side on how he is doing and why I need to keep an eye in him, he has noted that today is a weird day and that parents and grandparents alike are freaked out so he does what a smart little guy does...picks on the helper Michele (yes, the Michele from the beginning of the story) to get to watch a movie that we have seen so many times it WAS on the no watch list. Today, anything is ok.

I am telling the story to my parents, in-laws and pastor, with props to add to the tale. I have the jeans I was wearing with the bullet hole. The boxers (clean, just like when mom always used to say wear clean underpants cause you just never know) with two bullet holes. Why only one hole in the jeans? After everything the bullet has gone through, it has only enough energy left to get through me and it stops after my boxers, trapped in my jeans. When I had arrived at the boys and jumped out of the car, the bullet had fallen to the ground in front of the Trailblazer. As the police had arrived, someone noticed it and they were able to mark the area.

Back to the house. As I had left the hospital, some of the folks were clapping and smiling and I had thought it was because I was ok and just blessed. Ok, so it still had not hit home. Now, at home, it is hitting home. It is just about 5:00 or so, only three hours after all of this began.

The first call is from the Indianapolis Star. This is appropriate as that is where I had worked for almost five years in sales up until just June of last year. The person that calls is Raygan. I know who she is and after explaining who I am we begin. Telling the story to her and hearing her reactions of disbelief, shock and amazement, it is hitting home. We finish with the understanding that she and a photographer are going to come to the house to get all of the details from me in person.

I realize now that this story is going to be in the paper Monday and I want to let a friend that still works there know and tell him I am ok. Many will look to him for more info as we still stay in touch. As David answers the phone, I ask him to get to his computer as he will want to get to the website after we talk. "David, first, everyone is ok. Listen to what I am going to tell you but remember, we are all ok." I proceed to tell him the story and to say he is shocked would be an understatement. David is a wonderful man with a young daughter and a great wife. This is not the kind of thing that happens to a friend. After I am done, David is almost unable to speak. I tell him that as people see the story word will travel fast and to just let everyone know we are ok. Again. And with that, I need to make another call to Ed from where I work now. Ed is no less shocked than David and is left with the same sort of freakish silence after I tell the story. All I ask of him is to let folks know I will not be in for a few days but that I will check in Monday sometime.

As I get off my cell phone with Ed, my home phone rings. WTHR-13. They have heard and want to come do a story. Ok.

The Star is at the door. Come in. The photographer is here. Join the fun. Now I should add a bit about the photographer. I had seen him for years coming and going at the paper and he is a character. He is tall with the longest dreadlocks I have ever seen in my life but he is also very kind. Have you ever looked at someone and just known they are nice? That is Mpozi. The boys think the hair is really cool and he is more than happy to amaze them, giving my boys a smile.

After the interview with the Star and Mpozi clicking off photos, they are about to leave when he confirms a picture to make sure it is ok. It is a picture of my friend and pastor with his hand on my 7 year olds back, saying good bye as he prepares to head home. You cannot see my sons face so I approve it.

Then the TV stations start calling and showing up.

God was with us...

Part 1:

It was supposed to be about a swim party. A swim party in Indiana at the end of February that you know about for three weeks can gain some momentum as a pretty big event, especially when you are 7 and 4 years old as my sons are. We had been to church that morning, filled up my wife's car and gone home to grab lunch. After a quick bite and a short nap, we were gathering all of the stuff needed for a swim party. Bathing suits, towels, swim shoes, maybe the goggles that the 4 year old loves to wear. What else? Ok, we are ready.

Of course, we are running late. The 7 year old needed to grab a light saber because Star Wars was the theme of the party, the 4 year old wanted to watch some bug crawl across the driveway, I was grabbing the bag of swim gear and my wife was still wrapping the presents even as we were heading out the door. Everyone jumps into my 2005 Acura TL. Boys buckled safely into their booster and car seats and mom and I up front. We are off and while we are 30 minutes from the party and 15 minutes late leaving, I am still confident that I can cut down some of that time in route.

I back the car out of the garage and am ready to go. The location of the party is entered into the GPS so all we need to do is relax and let 'Acura Annie' lead us to the fun. Suddenly, my wife has a thought. I need to get my bathing suit. Now readers, if you do not know me or what I look like trust me when I tell you that seeing me in a bathing suit after a long winter is not something you want to think about and not something I wanted to make the nice people at the party suffer through. I have also been married for almost 14 years to the same wonderful woman and if she thinks I need to grab a suit, it is time to go grab a suit.

I put the car in park and run inside to try and find a bathing suit. I knew that a few weeks earlier my 4 year old had been to a swim party and I had also been instructed to bring a suit along just in case. Fortunately for all involved, it had stayed in the bag. I ran upstairs to the closet most likely to have the bag with the suit still in it. No dice. Not in the guest room either. That is when I heard my wife yell from downstairs that she had found the bag and to just grab a towel. As I grab a towel and head downstairs the phone rings. Are you kidding me? We are running late but curiosity not only killed the cat but stopped my wife for a brief moment as she peered into the kitchen to look at the caller ID. "It's Michele" she said. "Are you kidding me, we need to get going," I said as I headed for the garage, my wife now right behind me. That was when my life changed.

Forever.

The sound I remember hearing as I took the first step into the garage was my Acura's car door closing. To understand, we have a two car garage with my wife's Chevy Trailblazer on the right side as you look at the house and that is also the side with the door from the house to the garage. Thus, for the first seconds, my view was blocked. However, the sound of the door closing should not happen. After about three steps, my worst possible nightmare was happening before my eyes. Looking at the car, some stranger was behind the wheel racing down my driveway with my children in the back seat. My wife and I run down the driveway screaming at the top of our lungs to 'let the kids out',' stop', 'wait', 'please, oh dear God stop'.....

As he reaches the end of my driveway, he turns the car and heads to the right. I am trying to grab the car door handle, which I already know is locked because my car has the option to lock the doors when put in gear, I am considering jumping in front of the car, but realize he is not going to stop. He tears away with my children.

Readers, I hope that you never have to hear the sound of your spouse's most haunting scream of desperation as you watch a stranger take off with your kids. The image and sounds will be with me until the day God calls me home.

I turn and run up the driveway to get my wife's car keys and give chase. Usually you would need a trained search team and two hunting dogs to find my wife's car keys, and that is if they are in her purse, but God had other plans that Sunday. I had used my wife's keys to drive to church that morning but she does not have a copy of my keys on her keychain and since we were taking my car, I took her keys from my coat pocket and placed them in the middle of the kitchen table two minutes befrore we left the house.

Sprinting up the drive, I knew where the keys were and that I had to move fast. My car was already likely out of the subdivision and every second counted. Back to the garage and around the car as my wife races inside.

"Call 911. I am going after them." I scream as she goes by. Getting into the Trailblazer, my eye catches something outside the garage to the right. It is my Acura, coming back. The person behind the wheel does not know how to get out of the subdivision and is doubling back to go out the way they came in. Flying out of the garage, the chase is on.

The road comes to a T and left is to the exit. As I buckle my seat belt and rip through the neighborhood, I dial 911 from my Treo 650. Why buckle my belt? Well, I know the boys are strapped in and if I am and things get bad, well, my seat belt is on. Coming to the exit of the subdivision, the road is straight and flat for at least a 1/2 mile in each direction (No, we do not live in the country. Indiana is just flat).

A look to the north and then to the south and instantly I can see my car rocketing away to the south. I later learn from the 7 year old he was going at least 100. I turn left and listen to the phone. All I can hear is something about having called 911 and something else when I put the phone down in the seat, put both hands on the wheel and put the accelerator all the way to the floor. For those of you not familiar with Acura TL's, they are fast. Much faster than a Chevy Trailblazer, a fact that does not escape me rocking down the road. I am screaming at the phone about the stolen car with my kids, where I am, I am not all together sure what but it was desperate. Then something amazing happened.

He stopped.

Racing down the road a mile from my house, he has pulled the car over on the far left side of the road and slammed on the brakes. I can see the tail lights like a shining beacon of joy. He is getting out!

I see him run across the street into another car that had been following him. I later learned this is the car he had been in trolling our neighborhood for I do not know what. Opportunity?

Seeing him run across to the right side of the road in the south bound lane and my Acura on the far left, my decisions was easy. Place the Trailblazer in the north bound lane. Put me between them and my children. Any father worth his salt would have done the same. Now I will tell you, many fathers have told me they would have just rammed the guy, and it crossed my mind as I approached, but I dismissed it quickly. This person was stealing my car and he was not after the kids. All that would have done is landed me in jail. No, protect the boys and end the most terrifying 4 minutes of my life. It is done. Thank God.

I race up, slam on the brakes and position my Trailblazer in the north bound lane. To get the visual, the Acura is on the left, off the road on the shoulder, the accomplice is in the right lane and 15 feet or so ahead of the Acura and I come racing in the middle. All that needs to happen here is for them to leave. It is over and we....

I look over at the accomplice car and in less than the blink of an eye realize it is far from over.

The person who has just jumped out of my Acura has a gun pointed at me.

I have never had a gun pointed at me but let me tell you, police say that untrained people always look at the gun and not the shooter. Police are right. All I saw was the barrel of that gun pointed at me in the car.

I leaned forward and stepped on the gas, trying to get out of the way a quickly as possible. But is was not fast enough. Three, maybe four shots fired at me from about ten feet away.

The first shot entered the middle of the passenger door, through the interior molding, into the center console, through a tin of Altoids, out the other side of the console and into me. It entered at the top part of my right butt cheek and exited at the top of my butt crack. Now readers, please know that I have thought long and hard about how to describe where I was hit and that is about the best I can do. I have said buttocks but all I get then is Forrest Gump stuff. I am sure there are medical terms but as I am not a doctor, let's go with that. If you have a better way to describe it, feel free to help me out.

The second shot hit the frame between the front and back door, a third hit a tire and if there was a fourth, I am not sure of what happened to that but no one was hurt by it.

As I saw the gun, I accelerated and moved most of my butt out of the way, I took the first left I could and stopped. I knew I had been shot. I knew my children were still sitting helpless in the Acura and I knew that if they turned down that road, it was not going to be good. Thanks again to God that they took off south bound and were gone.

I backed the car up and raced to my boys. I jumped out of the Trailblazer and raced over to them. They were ok. Scared to a level that no child should have to deal with, but they were not hurt.

They were ok.

The event is NOW over. People, wonderful people, people that God put there to help, were coming over, stopping, coming out of their houses. Calling 911. Coming to me. Helping my boys.

Wait.

My wife has no idea. I must call her and talk to her now. She needs to know we are all ok. Now understand, I did not know the extent of the gunshot (feels weird to write that) wound, but since I was running around, talking to people, able to still move I felt I was ok. My wife has to know we are ok.

The last thing she saw was a stranger stealing my car with her children in back and her husband racing after them. What I found out later was she did not see the Acura come back by so she had no idea how close of a pursuit I was in. What I found out she heard on the 911 call still gives me goose bumps.

I must now move to my wife's part as told by me.

As she runs in and grabs the phone to call 911, neighbors are all coming out of there houses. It is 1:45 on a Sunday in a neighborhood where average homes are in the $180's. In Indiana, that is a nice house. Not pools and servants, but a nice home. This does not happen here. Ours screams have people running around wondering what is happening.

My wife grabs the phone and while calling 911 runs outside just in case the car is back, boys are let out of the car, whatever. Three male neighbors jump in their cars to give chase. To be honest, they are a few of the neighbors that I do not know. Over the past few years, I have tried to meet most of the people around me, but as God would have it this day, that was who He wanted.

My wife's 911 call has not been made public yet but we are both confident that when it is we will both be ill. She described it as a rollercoaster. Frantic as the call is connected, lucid for a few moments to give name, car info, address, event info, then screaming that they need to get her children back, back to lucid that her husband is after them, to insane. What mother would not be?!

As she is on the phone with 911, they tell her that it appears one of my sons has dialed 911 and is screaming in the background. I must tell you, this does not help my wife's mental state. But wait, my children are calling 911? Not possible. Please remember that they are 7 and 4. No phones for them yet. How can they be calling 911?

Remember the Treo 650 info above? That phone and my Acura have something called Bluetooth technology. For those that do not know, read on. Those that do, skip to next paragraph.

Bluetooth allows you to have hands free devices. Ever seen someone walking around with one of those crazy things in their ear with the blue light blinking? Or walking along and talking into a wireless headset? Same thing. My Acura acts as a wireless connection to my phone. I can voice dial numbers or programmed names with the touch of a button as long as my phone is in the car and has paired up. Everytime the car comes on, the phone pairs. As I had started the Acura originally and had the phone in my pocket, they paired.

As I dialed 911 from the Trailblazer giving chase, another amazing thing happened. The call to 911 connected in the Acura. Bluetooth is supposed to have a range of about 30 to 35 feet. The Acura is 1/2 a mile down the road going 100 miles an hour. There is no Earthly way that can happen. It does. God is not of this Earth.

The call goes through and the person stealing the Acura hears: "911 control, what is your emergency?" This is when they must have decided that if the car is calling 911, it is time to bail because the police cannot be far behind. My sons have both been in the car many times when we have used this feature and my 7 year old starts screaming for help and that the person has stolen his dad's car.

Back to the scene. I have now reached my sons and verified that they are ok. The 7 year old was shaken and scared. As I learned later that night, I understand why. Remember the light saber from the second paragraph? After the thief has taken the car, my son lifts his light saber by the 'blade', wielding it to use the heavy, much more painful if it hits you handle (trust me, I have been) as a weapon. He tells the person in the car "If you do not stop this car I am going to hit you with my light saber!" and they respond "If you do, I will shoot you." My son tells me that he thought he did not really have a gun but when he leaned over (he was in the passenger side of the back) he could see the gun in the pocket. "That is when I decided my words were going to get me in trouble so I stopped talking to him." God protects the children.

As my other son, a brave little 4 year old, told him it was not his car, he told them both to be quiet. Now I will tell you, I doubt it was that polite but that is how my sons tell it. They have been taught to not say bad words.

At this point in the event, people are stopping, looking, trying to decide if this is something they want to get involved in. I am jumping up and down screaming that I need help. The more people around, the sooner this is 'safe'. A wonderful man named Perry (I think. Please understand I have enough adrenaline in me to lift a car and I just have recovered my children from the most terrifying event of our life) gets out of his car. Perry runs over and as he approaches, I start screaming for him to call 911, my kids were in a carjacking, we need police, who really knows. I also mention that I have been shot. This is when Perry looks at me a little odd.

"What?"

It was great and I will never forget his tone. He was brave enough to jump out of his car and come help, unsure of what he was getting into but I am confident he did not think it was a shooting. Yet this info just made him more resolved. During the call to 911 he told them of the shooting and was helping to control me as I was pacing like a caged, wild animal and 911 is telling him to get me calm and to hold still.

The first police car, and God Bless the Marion County police department as they were there in no time, has an officer approaching from his car with his hand on his gun and a ready attitude. After getting a quick lay of the land, he is on the radio. I have no idea what he said, but as my wife later says, there are a LOT of police cars on scene.

As the ambulance from Station 112 (the best station in town if you ask me) roll up I can breathe. My boys are safe, I am ok, and this is really over. I need to call my wife. The phone is busy. Call again. Busy. Again. Busy.

Now the 112 guys are saying something about hospital and bullet and some other stuff that I was blocking out. I HAD to tell my wife we were all ok. Think......the last thing she saw was her children taken from our driveway and her crazy husband after them. She needs a bit of an update. But correctly, the guys from 112 are getting me on a stretcher and easing me to the ambulance. That is when I kind of remember I was shot.

There was anther gift from God on site that afternoon. Her name was Mary. She pulled up and was amazing as well. She asked what happened and as I was going through it, everyone else was coming up and she just did what great moms do. She mothered my children. Realizing that this was a terrible event in their young lives and obviously having kids, she knew they needed to have something else. She gave them games, talked to them about things not part of what was going on, etc.

Then, those great guys from 112 told me something I did not want to hear.....time to go. Now!

There is no way that after all of this that I am going to leave the scene until my wife is here and the darn phone is still busy. This is when Mary tells me she will call the number until my wife answers and stay with my boys until she arrives. Now I was not interested in leaving but rightly, the guys from 112 were not in the mood to negotiate. I was going to the hospital. There was no doubt I had been shot and they had a job to do. Loading me into the rig to head downtown, I was able to breathe. Finally. Deeply. Fatherly. Thankfully.

During the ride downtown I was a little wired but the guys were great. The destruction of my favorite grey shirt hurt. As I arrived at the hospital, there are about 10 people following my cart as they roll me into trauma 7. All I can think is ER and Grey's Anatomy. All I need is a resident presenting my case and I am ready for my close up. They are all over me. Ever been naked around 7 or 8 people?? I mean other than college? Well, when you have been shot it seems like a great idea. Please make sure I am not bleeding anywhere else.

As they are looking me over, grabbing, pushing, poking, it all seems to be ok. There is not anyone yelling about a bleeder and the trauma surgeon is just standing there with his arm crossed as he asked me what happened. Note to future trauma surgeons: Look calm, it really helps.

Then some doc says he needs to check my prostate. (If you do not know what that means, ask you parents.) "Just relax." Anyone who has ever heard that knows that what follows will not be fun.

"Moon River".

After a thorough exam covering all 360 degrees, the doctor and I were to be engaged. It is then that I told the gang that the prostate exam hurt more than getting shot. That lightenend up the room and about 4 people that had followed my stretcher in were out of there. Stupid flesh wound. What ya gonna do, bleed on me??

Soon it is off to X-ray and back to my room. Tim, my RN, has been amazing. Need a phone, done. Need a drink, done. Need a smile, already there. He was great and in reflection, he was the first that gave me a glimpse of the scope of my event. He also was the one that was there the entire way. I think that may get overlooked sometimes. The docs come and go but Tim stayed there. Another gift from God that day.

Now things are going to get a bit weird.