Three is a lot.

As I was leaving Boston Market yesterday, a meal in hand, I recalled the moment more than twenty years ago when I was hit by a car in this very parking lot.

It was a rainy autumn afternoon in 2001. I was picking up food at halftime of a Patriots game. As I walked toward my car, two large bags of food in my hands, a pick-up truck came screeching around the corner and plowed into me.

Thankfully, I wasn’t hurt very badly. The truck sort of punched me to the ground. My food went flying, my hand and knee were torn open on the pavement, and my hip and shoulder were sore for a few days, but I was otherwise fine. A panicked man asked what I could do to make it right, so I told him to repurchase my food and pay me $100 for my trouble.

He happily agreed.

As I recalled this event yesterday, it occurred to me that my brother, my sister, and I have all been hit by cars.

My brother, Jeremy, was hit by a car as he crossed two lanes of traffic on his bike when he was about 11 years old. He was following me on my bike, and when I made the left turn from Summer Street over to Federal Street, he assumed it was safe for him to cross. The car hit him broadside, knocking him off the bike, onto the hood, across the windshield, and onto the ground. He was hurt pretty badly, and his glasses were broken into three pieces. As the driver tried to insist she wasn’t speeding, I ran into a neighbor’s house and called my home. When my mother answered, I said, “Put Dad on the phone.”

He called 911, and an ambulance arrived at the accident scene just before my parents did.

Jeremy spent a day in the hospital before being released.

More than a decade later, my sister, Kelli, was struck by a car as she ran across a three-lane highway in Rhode Island.

Don’t ask why.

She was thrown more than 50 feet through the air and survived only because of the grassy median where she landed. Still, she was hospitalized for weeks, required many surgeries, and took more than a year to recover. She still suffers from the aftereffects of that accident to this day.

When a police officer eventually found her purse at the accident scene, he drove it to the hospital and couldn’t believe it when the doctors told him that she was still alive. He was absolutely certain that the accident had killed her.

Of course, I was also involved in a head-on collision when I was 17 years old that sent my head through the windshield and required paramedics to perform CPR in the back of an ambulance to restore my life, but I don’t count that incident because it was technically car versus car.

I was simply collateral damage.

Three siblings, all struck by cars at some point in our lives. I never thought about it before, but that seems like a lot.

Unlikely at best. Perhaps a bit unlucky in terms of our family. But unusual.

Right?