Miracle Man

By Anthony A. Pellegrino

Follow Peter Adams on an exciting adventure through his life. Peter rebels against his religious upbringing and questions the existence of God. A vicious accident involving his closest friends leads him to reexamine his faith. He requests a higher power to grant him the ability to perform miracles, and his request, though limited, is granted. See how Peter makes use of his gift by following him as the Miracle Man. You will be fascinated by this tale.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543461817

Anthony A. Pellegrino

Anthony Pellegrino has always had a passion for writing imaginative stories. His life's work as a professional educator prevented him from finding the time to become a full time author. Although he is now involved in a great many activities, he has found the time to pursue a lifelong dream, an author. A few harsh winters a few years back in the northeast part of the United States confined him to remain in his home for long periods of time. That allowed him the time to write four published novels, The Detective, The Consultant, Miracle Man and Nightmares in Dreamland.

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Copyright © 2017 by Anthony A. Pellegrino.

ISBN:                     Hardcover                        978-1-5434-6179-4

                               Softcover                          978-1-5434-6180-0

                               eBook                                978-1-5434-6181-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 10/30/2017

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2: THINGS CHANGE

CHAPTER 3: CHANGE IS IN THE AIR

CHAPTER 4: THE ENGAGEMENT

CHAPTER 5: THE OMEN

CHAPTER 6: THE RECOVERY

CHAPTER 7: A NEW DAY

CHAPTER 8: CARING ABOUT SISTER PAM

CHAPTER 9: THE MAKING OF THE MIRACLE MAN

CHAPTER 10: THE END ZONE

CHAPTER 1

My name is Peter Adams, and I am lying here in a hospital bed. I am extremely grateful that I can still remember things. I can remember my childhood days as if they were yesterday. My father was Michael Adams, but everyone called him Mickey. He served as a no-nonsense sergeant in the United States Army, and that was exactly how he ran our home and our family—as a top sergeant. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was the boss and what he said was law. He was fair, and he treated everyone with respect. My mom’s name was Dorothy, but her friends and family called her Dot. She was a loving, supportive, caring human being.

Dad worked as an engineer for a local radio station and provided well for our family. We had everything we ever needed, thanks to him. We lived in an attractive one-family dwelling that was surrounded by a garden with pretty, colorful flowers. The front and back lawns were carefully attended to by a hired gardening service. I had a small bedroom on the upper right-hand floor of the house. Although it was small, I had every toy and communication gadget at my disposal. I literally wanted for nothing. The kitchen was always stocked with snacks and delicious food, and Mom was quite the cook. Wednesday night was family-choice night, and Mom would ready up any meal that a family member requested. On Thursday nights, the family usually ate out at a local restaurant. Life was fine. I had a sister, Pam, who was three years my junior. I simply adored Pam, but in my opinion, she had one major flaw. She was the proverbial tattletale, and I didn’t like her very much when she told on me. I truly believe she was my dad’s pet child. I always paid the consequences when she told Dad about something I should not have done, especially if I teased her or made fun of her.

On Sunday mornings, Dad would load us into the family limousine and off we would go to the parish church, Saint Francis. It was a lovely church. Sunday service would typically last about an hour, but it seemed to me as if that hour took days to pass. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was to mention to Dad, Mom, or Pam that I was bored because that would have meant that I would be in for an additional sermon. I do not exaggerate when I claim that my family was extremely holy, and they expected their son to join them in their holiness. In addition, they were extremely charitable. They believed in sharing. Since God had blessed our family with abundance, they believe that they should extend their good fortune to the less fortunate.

Our church had three priests, and two of the three priests gave brutal sermons. I truly believed that they had a special skill that allowed them to prepare tedious long presentations and that I was the target of their wrath. Father Dan scared me half to death with his fire-and-brimstone orientations. If you sinned, you’re going to burn in hell for all eternity. Do you have any idea, he would ask, as to what it feels like to be set on fire and to be unable to extinguish the flames? One cannot even begin to imagine the pain. So prepare yourself, sinner, for the inevitable.

I may not have been able to imagine the pain of hell, but I sure had a handle on the fear of it. It kept me awake for hours, thinking about it after bedtime on Sunday nights.

Then there was Father Leo. He wasn’t scary; he was just boring. His words had no effect on me. I would simply become comatose, and his words never seemed to reach my ears. The third priest, Father Anthony, was the only one who kept me interested in what he had to say. He was very funny, and he always told a few jokes to keep the congregation awake. The good news didn’t end after the bells tolled and the church door closed. Mom and Dad would gather the family together for at least one hour to discuss the essence of the meaning of the Sunday’s service. With Bible in hand, we would analyze the gospel reading. And you had better pay attention, for you were sure to be questioned about it. After one of the Bible sessions, Mom came up with a rather bizarre thought. Peter, why don’t you become an altar boy? I think she had a vocation in mind for me. Think about it, Peter.

I responded by telling her, I will give your suggestion serious consideration. I could have given her an answer immediately, No way, Mom. But I didn’t want to offend her.

Sunday service was more than enough for me. Since the subject never came up again, I let the topic die. I did, however, think about the reason why I was so diametrically opposed to the idea and why I rejected the suggestion immediately. I could not come up with a reasonable explanation for my reaction to her suggestion.

To reinforce my religious upbringing, Mom and Dad sent me to a parochial school. Dad felt that such a school had better discipline than the public schools, and he felt that it was more important because it helped to foster learning. He was absolutely right about the discipline. The religious instructors knew how to maintain order in the classrooms and on school grounds. They were very polite about asking for one’s cooperation, but if that didn’t work, they had other techniques that they used for you to comply with their wishes. I did appreciate their efforts to educate me. I was, by all test-measurement statistics, a rather average student. The main reason why I didn’t do better in school was due to my lack of effort. I got out of school exactly what I put into it, and that was next to nothing. Sure, I would go up to my room and pretend to do homework, but the room contained so many distractions. I utilized every one of them so that homework and study was given very little attention. Mom and Dad very seldom checked on what I was doing. I was passing all my courses, so they were not really all that concerned. My sister, Pam, on the other hand, was an A+ student. I once overheard Mom wondering why I wasn’t as smart as Pam, but my parents never investigated the reason for my shortcomings.

I was a very athletic individual, and I excelled at baseball and Little League and midget football. Even at a rather young age, I began to see how success attracted people to you. People were attracted to my sister, Pam, because of all the academic awards that she had earned. She simply would bathe in the attention. That was when I decided to become a better student. I put more effort into my schoolwork, and that effort showed improvement. In my second year of high school, I made it to the honor roll, and I have remained on it ever since. I became quite the popular man on campus, and girls and guys began to flock to me, like bees on pollen. My success allowed me to take liberties at the expense of other people, and that was a rather unethical thing to do. At first, my remarks were in opposition with my inner beliefs and my religious family upbringing. The fact that people who were not the target of my words laughed with me promoted and encouraged my misbehavior. This side of my character could never be shown at home because it would not be tolerated. I was a well-behaved boy at home and somewhat of a verbal bully away from home. Sometimes I would tease girls until tears flowed from their eyes. I made them feel inferior, and I couldn’t begin to imagine what it was like to carry the burden of my words home with them. I had so many so-called friends that it really didn’t matter if some were offended by my words.

In retrospect, I realized I was not a very nice person. Strange as it was, the more I insulted people, the larger my group became. I was the gigantic center of attraction. Judy Weitz, a sophomore at my high school, stopped me in the corridor one day and asked rather sheepishly if she could speak to me for a few moments in private. I agreed to do so, but this was part of her strategy to strip me of my support group. I looked her straight in the eye and asked rather inquisitively, What’s up?

I didn’t have to wait long for her reply. How can you be so cruel to people? How can you live with yourself? You’re the lowest excuse for a human being that I have ever come in contact with.

What brought you to that conclusion?

You think you’re special because of the plethora of idiots in your group who encourage you to do what you do. What you do is hurt people. Does the name Lee Margaret Gomez mean anything to you? Does it ring a bell?

Not really.

She was the girl you referred to as goofy, unintelligent, ugly, fat, and dumb. The girl you said that must have come from another planet because she was inhuman.

Oh, her. I didn’t know her name was Lee Margaret. Yes, I know the young lady.

Well, some members of your group imitated you and continued to taunt her. Do you recall having seen her lately?

Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her in quite a while.

Do you have the faintest idea why she hasn’t attended school for some time? Lee Margaret is my best friend, and she just couldn’t take the pressure you and your friends put on her. She was on the verge of having a nervous breakdown, and she tried to commit suicide. Fortunately, she was rushed to a hospital, and they managed to save her life. She has recovered from her attempted suicide, but she refused to come back to this school. She now attends a special school for people with special needs upstate.

I’m truly sorry for your friend, and I certainly never meant for her to be hurt by my words.

You should be sorry and should realize that people have feelings and that your miserable words can have a detrimental effect on them. You’re going to burn in hell unless you change your ways. She sounded like Father Dan delivering a sermon.

Thank you for filling me in about Lee Margaret, and I will do everything in my power to reform my ways in the future. By the way, Judy, what are you doing Saturday night?

You’re such a jerk. I wouldn’t go out with you even if you were the last fellow on earth.

After she shouted those final words, she turned and walked away in a huff. I chuckled and left the scene of our conversation, but her words had an impact on me. I was going to make every effort to change. The change in my behavior resulted in the loss of popularity, but I still maintained a multitude of friends.

CHAPTER 2

THINGS CHANGE

The years passed quickly, but the real changes in my belief system and my personality really took place when I attended college. I took courses in religion, science, economics, and philosophy. Some of my colleagues and I began to question the establishment and its belief system. Had we been brainwashed into accepting truths without challenging the authorities and asking for proof? As a pseudo intellectual, I had many student allies. A number of us formed clubs and inculcated in one another what we believed should be social doctrine. We became intellectual revolutionists. I began to formulate new ideas into my psyche, and I would eventually use those thoughts as a blueprint for living my life.

Eventually, I would look back on those formative years as if I was an innocent lamb in the woods, but the impact that they had on my life was immense. I was beginning to feel good about myself, and my thought process. I would not allow the world that I live in to dictate what I should believe or refuse to believe. I would take personal responsibility to live my life in the manner that I saw fit. I would not allow the world to take advantage of me. Two can play that game, and I would take extreme advantage of the world in any shape or way that I could. If I had to take advantage of the people who lived in it to benefit my personal goals, I would. I subscribed to the old saying that at the end of life, the person who has the most toys wins, and I intended to be a winner.

My friends and I believed that religion was an organized roost—a sham. Let the masses believe in God, not us. In my opinion, there is no heaven or hell and there isn’t a hereafter. There is only the here and now. We were not created by a super being that always was and always will be. As far as I was concerned, God is dead. He is nonexistent. Science has explained how we came into existence. We are a cosmic creation, an accident if you will. People are born, they live for a brief period of time, and then they die. They will no longer exist after death. They did not exist before they were born, and they will return to that very same state after they die.

If God was all good, as many people believe, and if he was such a loving God, then why does he allow such disastrous events to take place? Why doesn’t he just strike down evil people? Why do people have to die? Why do they have to be mutilated, and why do they have to suffer from vicious diseases? How can he allow the devil or evil to exist if he is all-powerful? If heaven was such a blissful place to exist in, then why were there rebellious angels? Why weren’t Adam and Eve forgiven of their sins? Why didn’t the all-loving and merciful God show compassion? How is it that God—if he exists—allows children to be born with hideous diseases like cancer, leukemia, or dementia? How could he allow the Zika virus to alter the size of a human being’s head? If he is all-knowing, why does he put us through the test if he already