As last week’s Throwback Thursday (TBT) post revealed with my curling iron accident, I am not the world’s most graceful person. While my sister’s seemed to get through childhood with relatively few injuries, I seemed to get more than my fair share of jammed fingers, sprained ankles, skinned knees, and stitches. Nothing major mind you, I was blessed in the grand scheme of things, but yeah, I’m a klutz.
The earliest instance of stitches I remember was in about first grade. We made these awesome cardboard kites in school and I figured I’d try to fly it in the living room. As I ran in circles trying to keep it aloft, I got dizzy, tripped and my lip met the corner of the coffee table. The coffee table won that encounter.
I was always spraining my ankles too. Once it happened when I was on vacation in Texas and I jumped off a brick porch that was higher than it appeared. You’d think I’d have learned a lesson, but I repeated that injury playing hide ‘n’ go seek with some neighborhood kids. Only this time, I jumped from the roof of a shed. In hindsight, I should have just let them find me – then climbed down the fence I used to get up there, but no, I decided to be brave and jump off the other side. I told my mother I tripped on the back steps, so please don’t tell on me.
I was always jamming my fingers playing softball too, so splinted fingers were commonplace. Once though, an injury to my fingers wasn’t all my fault. We had a trap door to the crawlspace that was pretty heavy. It was on hinges and we had a solid chest of drawers in the closet off to the side. We’d open a drawer to prop the crawl space door open and we used to store stuff down there. When I was in seventh grade, we were moving to a new house and while my parents were off at an event at my dad’s work, my grandparents had my sisters and I bring boxes up from the crawl space to help out. I had my head down but was holding on to the space by the hinges when my grandmother, not realizing the significance of the drawer that was pulled out, decided to close it so I wouldn’t bump my head. Ouch. Broke two fingers that time, but I got out of all the rest of the moving duties.
That crawl space was the bane of my existence. It was open one day when I came back from school and not looking, I stepped forward into the closet to hang up my school uniform and scored a nice big bruise as I landed in the crawl space.
What about you? What bumps and bruises did you sustain as a child? Share your childhood stories with us, and more importantly, share them with your family.