Not me, but my son and his dad. When my son was a baby (maybe a year old?) his dad was pushing him in the pram. They walked past a building site with about 6 floors of scaffolding. A big metal pole fell off the top and landed about a foot behind them. If they'd stopped for any reason for even a second, they'd probably both be dead.

This second story probably isn't the closest I've ever been to death, but it certainly felt like it. My son and I were leaving Catalunya metro station and decided to stop for a doughnut. They were going really slowly and I kept thinking we should skip it, but he wanted a fruit pot and I thought I should wait as he'd chosen fruit over doughnuts. As we were finally about to leave the station, a security guard came screaming down the stairs and forced us all back onto the platform. The van used in the Barcelona terrorist attack had just gone over our heads, killing 16 pedestrians. If we hadn't decided to wait for the doughnut and fruit pot, our planned route would have had us right in its path as it went down La Rambla.

All things considered, my son seems to be some sort of good luck charm.