We were quite young, kids, really, when in a freak accident He had both his legs broken. We kids were there and saw this happen; He was behind our old old car seeing how the turn signals work when He was hit by another car from behind. All this happened at the Fair Grounds, where people went to learn how to drive on the acres of parking lot.

At any rate, he was conscious when they took Him to the hospital, and the doctor told Him: "Mike, with a snip of the scissors I'll just have to cut your feet off". His legs were that busted (above the ankles), just hanging from strips of skin. So, the Old Man told the doctor "No. You're a doctor and you have to fix them". They went back and forth like this, because the doctor knew what it meant to fix bones THAT shattered, but in the end he gave in. He said "O.K., Mike. I'll do the best I can do. But in all likelihood, you'll never walk again.", to which our Dad responded "You fix 'em and leave the walking to me". And proceeded to draw these cartoons of his experience in the operating room and later the recovery rooms. There must have been a lot more of these... Took Him five years, but He did walk. All the different stages in between... I remember Him laying in bed with both legs in casts up to His hips, on His stomach, painting icons on doors that were on the floor slid under the bed. He'd slide them back and forth as needed to paint... Wheelchair....... Crutches.... Always with a cane, later.

He gave us this gift. Of showing, by example, of what can be done...