I’ll never forget coming around the traffic circle on my scooter and seeing my brother headed towards me on his bicycle. It was kind of like that stupid shuffle you do when you walk into someone and keep following each other because neither one of you can figure out which way to go. This was different though because we were both bookin’ it right towards one another and if we didn’t figure this out soon we were going to wreck. Of course we didn’t figure it out and we ended up slamming into each other head on.
I flew forward and knocked the air from my lungs on his handlebars as he went crashing into the pavement. “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe” is all I could muster as if my brother who was writhing in pain on the ground cared at all.
Naturally being a first grader I was sure my mom would be able to save me from what seemed like my impending suffocation. She was in a porta-potty around a corner though so while I waited I lay on the ground and made some gasping sounds and tried to start breathing. By the time she came out I could breathe so I explained what had just happened as we went and found my brother.
We found Mitchell right where I had left him all tangled in the bicycle and complaining about his arm. Never mind his arm though he was riding my bike when we wrecked so it had better not be scratched! While my brother complained about his arm I checked for scratches and damage.
After hearing my brother complain for about 30 minutes, she decided it might be a good idea to take him to the hospital. So, while my mom loaded up my bike and scooter I sat in the car and listened to my brother whine about his arm.
The rest of the day after this is a blur until we got back home. I remember walking into the T.V. room and seeing my brother sitting alone on the couch with one tear rolling down his cheek. It was heartbreaking to see because his 12th birthday was in 13 days school was out in a month and he had a broken arm which I was convinced was my fault.
The next day at school I couldn’t stop thinking about how unlucky my brother was and while walking to recess I began to wonder what it would be like to break a bone.
This thought though was quickly erased from my mind as I caught sight of my crush playing on the monkey bars. Rushing over to her I was dismayed to find the most disliked kid in class playing on the monkey bars also. Being a proud young first grader I did the logical thing and challenged him to a monkey fight where we would try and knock each other off the bars with our feet while hanging down. Things were going well until I began losing grip and decided it would be best to retreat to the ladder, regain grip, and return to battle. However, upon turning around, my opponent wrapped his legs around my waist as my grip became weaker and weaker. Realizing my defeat I fell to the ground underneath the victor of the chicken fight, who apparently wasn’t satisfied with defeating me in front of my crush, because he let go and came crashing down on my left leg. Immediately I was engulfed in pain as I once again laid back and tried to catch my breath.
There wasn’t much I could do other than scream in agony as a teacher scooped me up after realizing I couldn’t walk and carried me to the office. I called my mom and cried into the phone until the nurse took the phone and told her she should probably come and get me and call the E.R. with a room order.
While I was waiting for my mom to come get me my brother had left his fourth grade class to come take his pain medication for his broken arm and I’m sure was surprised to see his brother laying down with his leg splinted up in a blanket and two yard-sticks. He joked with me for a little bit, about how this is what I get for being more worried about my bike than him, until my mom showed up.
After a rough ride to the hospital I was taken in on a gurney and given x-rays. This was a horrible experience as they had to move my leg all over the place which resulted in me screaming a lot and the x-ray technicians feeling really sorry because they were hurting me so much. After this I was taken back to the casting room where I got hooked up to all sorts of monitors while I waited for the doctor. While I waited I tried to hold my breath to see what the monitors would do but it got boring when nothing really happened. When the doctor arrived I was given some magic drug that made me feel like everyone was a slow moving robot in a movie. All I really remember is looking at the light above me while my highly amused parents waved their hands in front of my face. The next thing I remember is waking up with what felt like a ton of bricks wrapped around my leg and just wanting to go home.
Other than trying to show off for girls, I wasn’t much of a tough guy in first grade so I spent the next two weeks in bed tripping out on pain meds, watching The Sandlot on repeat, crying a lot and I think I also learned how to sew. While it was quite a hassle trying to deal with a casted leg during end of school activities, I was able to employ personal servants, leave for lunch early, and of course score big with the ladies because I had endured so much pain
Whenever my family recalls the 17th and 18th of April we always end up laughing at the irony of the whole situation. It is never fun to remember hard times and this incident is what taught me to always laugh at your struggles and always find something positive in everything.