If fate had its way, I never would have been born. My dad should have died a number of times before I was even a thought in his head.

My father has had one of those ridiculous lives where you only realize just how ridiculous it is once you recount the events out loud. When the Boston Marathon bombings happened, I was upset for the obvious reasons. But I was consumed by "what ifs" because my parents, who live in the city, always attend the marathon and sit by the finish line to cheer on the runners. They didn't on this occasion for the first time in years simply because of an out-of-town appointment they couldn't miss.

In high school, during practice, my father was struck in the head by a baseball that immediately knocked him unconscious. (By the way, his religion teacher/baseball coach was the one who threw the ball — and then failed my dad for the semester because he missed so much class due to being in the hospital.)