VOL. V, NO. 6

Christmas 1963 dawns crisp and cheery. A new fallen snow has covered the world. I cannot enjoy it, for I am a ghost of the past. I remember other Christmases, but the one I remember most is Christmas 1962.

I was young and laughing and seeking adventure. The world was my oyster. I had a car. Something in the air beckoned the car to go faster and faster. I remember so well the coolness of the snow as it buried the four of us in pain.

They said one girl will never see another Christmas tree or a new fallen snow. One girl, they said, will not live because of so many broken bones. Another will never again ski or skate. She will see the world, forever, from a wheelchair. None of the three will ever feel the urge to explore speed, as I did that bright day. Neither will I, you see I got by lucky: I died.

You look forward to Christmas as you do every year, but remember YOU have future Christmases to celebrate. If speed ever calls don't listen as I did