George Therit passes on a little too early

     When George Therit Jr. passed away this week just short of his 91st birthday, it occurred to me that he died about seven years too soon.
     That's how many years I figure he lost when he thought he killed a six year old kid in Manchester many years ago.
     Mr. Therit, known as Junior to most adults in town, was just about 27 at the time. He was home from serving in the army during the second world war, and he and Mrs. Therit -- Miriam -- had two little boys of their own. They were known and respected as solid, decent, clean-living folks who would never hurt another person for all the world.
     But events conspire against us, and as George drove at a reasonable speed west on York Street, near the intersection with Main, a mop-headed kid came out of nowhere, dashing into the path of his gray '38 Plymouth. There was a thump!, and the kid went flopping and rolling into the gutter.
     I figure that's when George lost those seven years, even though the kid jumped up and started yelling, "Am I dead? Am I dead?"
     The kid was lucky, and a little slow afoot, as well as on the uptake of what constitutes dead. Beheaded chickens might run around after the big moment, but the kid was just bruised and scared.
     Almost as scared as George, they say.
     I was that kid. I recall that the steel in the right front fender of a pre-war Plymouth was as substantial as a cast iron frying pan, and could give you a fat lip, but that was better than going under the big front tire, which was a split second alternative.
     Not being dead, I was deemed fit to return to duty, which at the time was attendance in first grade class at Manchester Elementary School. I took an ice cube with me and a story to tell.
     The Therit family went to the same Immanuel Lutheran Church as my family, and his son, Dean (I always thought that had something to do with my luck) and I were in the same Sunday School class. Over the years, we would recall that moment and share a chuckle at the thick-headed kid who jumped up demanding to know if he was dead.
     I always figured I owed Mr. Therit something for scaring the life out of him.
     That close call was a lesson for me; everything can change in the flicker of an eye.
     A few years later, I grabbed a handful of my sister's hair as she was about to drown in the creek up at Dick's Dam, and held her there until adults could come and help.
     Many years after that, I saved a young man from choking to death on a burger in a Hanover restaurant, and later repeated that performance by smacking the back of a friend in a Taneytown restaurant when he was choking on steak.
     What are the odds?
     One day on a quiet street in Hanover, an elderly lady stepped out of her car to put mail in a corner box, but the vehicle was left in reverse. It backed up, the open door knocked her down, and she was about to be run over by her own car. I was able to get her out of the way in time, just because I happened to be walking by.
     So, George, you lost seven years because of me, but I like to think they got put back into the bank to give four others some extra time. Maybe it was part of some master plan.
    In any case, God bless you in your new adventure.