My father was overseas in Vietnam.

It was sort of warm; I think it was fall.

My mother was pregnant with Allison (of course we didn't know it was Allison at the time.) So, that means I was just starting sixth grade, Michael fourth grade, Tricia second grade, Matthew kindergarten, and Andrew was about a year old.

Those of us in school were attending Holy Family in Maryland.

Matthew and Tricia were in the same physical education group. They were doing tumbling.

The instructor explained that each child was to complete the somersault and get into line on the other side of the mat. Everything was okay, then she told them to do a backwards roll.

Get into a squat like a frog, with your hands inside your legs pressed firmly into the mat. Push off, roll quickly backwards and you're done. The first few children did the backwards roll and ran to the line on the other side of the mat.

It was Matthew's turn. He squatted down and started to roll backwards. He was on his back, his roll slowed and he fell to one side. He rose and started for the line.

The instructor said, "No. You have to complete the roll. Try it again."

Matthew tried. And tried, and tried again. He looked hopefully at the instructor. She pointed to the start. He tried again and again; pushed off harder and harder. He could not do a backwards roll.

Matthew scrunched himself into a little ball like a potato bug. He tensed all his muscles and pushed off. He started to roll backwards. He passed the halfway point! Oh no, his roll reversed direction and he fell sideways.

Matthew screamed in pain. The instructor hurried to him.

He yelled, "My neck is broken. My neck is broken." He wouldn't let the instructor near him.