This web site contains stories of physical, mental, emotional, and sexual child abuse.

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"Can you tell me your name?" I asked the girl.

"Carol" she replied, as she gasped for air.

"Help will be here in just a few minutes," I told her, as I looked around to see if the ambulance was coming.

The girl’s car had slid off the roadway in front of me and had turned over several times landing in a dry culvert bed.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Roger, Roger Dean."

"Please you get me out of here," she asked.

"Everything's alright. Everything's just fine. I just don't want to move you until the ambulance attendants get here," I told her, as I stroked her head, which was lying on the ground outside the car window.

"What happened?" I asked her.

"I don't know. I just don't know. I was just driving along and here I am upside down."

"I can get my coat for a pillow if you want."

"Please," she replied.

I let go of her head and I ran back to my car where I grabbed my coat and several tissues. When I returned I folded up the coat and gently placed in it beneath her head.

"I'm really sleepy," she told me, as I wiped the blood from her face with the few tissues that I had brought.

"Don't go to sleep. You need to stay awake until the ambulance gets here," I told her, in a very stern voice.

Off in the distance I could hear the ambulance siren. At last it finally arrived and the two attendants, along with the highway patrolman, removed the girl from the automobile.

After the ambulance had left, the policeman took down my name, address and phone number. Then he thanked me for my help and asked me how it felt to be a "hero". I just smiled at him. Then I walked back to my car and drove back to my apartment. I stood at the sink for more than five minutes washing the girl’s blood off my hands and forearms. It was a very strange feeling seeing someone's blood on my hands. After washing my hands I showered, changed my clothes and headed off to work.

As I sat in my chair I thought back to the policeman calling me a "hero." I didn't feel like a "hero." What was being a "hero" supposed to feel like anyway? Nothing seemed to change around me. I was the only one who knew that I was a "hero."

As I think back to the three or four times that I helped or saved someone's life. I really didn't feel much of anything. I was always a little scared inside and I was shaking. All I remember was that who ever it was that I was helping was bleeding and totally helpless. I saw a chance to help someone who really needed me. I was not used to being needed by anyone.

Yes, I was lucky to be a "hero" three or four times during my life. I hope those I helped save will remember me. I remember them because they have added something special to my life. They have given me the chance to be called a "hero."

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