In Stitches

Isn't it amazing how we survived childhood? The other day Brenda and I were talking about the incidents we survived as kids of falling, tripping, skidding and bumping into objects that create wounds and lasting scars. I spent hours in Dr. Dostrow's office receiving my share of stitches for childhood mishaps; some were accidents, some were just stupid-kid stuff.

Brenda has a scar on her thumb which is a lasting reminder of her brother mistakenly closing the front door on her hand as a little girl. The thumb was actually severed but miraculously re-attached. I have a matching scar on my right thumb from a stupid-kid incident involving a swing set in my neighbor's back yard. There was a side car kind-of-thing on the swing set that allowed two riders to face each other as it swung back and forth. I was curious: what would happen if I stuck my thumb in the mechanism at the top? Well, I soon found out when I pulled out my bloody appendage--the thumb was cut to the bone right behind the nail. With a tetanus shot and several stitches later, I was out playing again. Another time, I was sitting on a wooden fence and fell backward directly onto a row of jagged bricks (it's crazy how much a simple scalp wound can bleed!). I was rushed to Dr. Dostrow's "office of pain" for another set of stitches.

The most notorious incident happened at my cousin Mike's house when we were around 7 or 8 years old. While playing Cowboy and Indian, Mike used a toy hammer as his tomahawk and I was using the standard toy gun. When we met up in a clearing in the backyard after a quick game of hide-and-seek, Mike aimed his tomahawk at me, reared back, and let it fly. I swear, I saw that hammer rotate in slow motion until it met my forehead above my right eye. BAM!!! I literally saw stars and heard a bird chirping as I fell to the ground in excruciating pain. I was puzzled why Mike let that hammer fly; it's still an unsolved family mystery. All I know is that I spent the afternoon with wires stuck to my head looking at a machine with squiggly lines as the Dr. reassured my mom that there was no brain damage from the incident--only a nasty, walnut-sized lump.

The no-brain-damage diagnosis was arguable as the question still remains: what motivates a kid to stick his thumb into a swing, fall back and bust his head on a brick flowerbed, and play Cowboy and Indian with dangerous weapons? All I can say is: thank God for His protection. Kids will do dumb things and the best we can do as parents is lock them in their rooms until they turn 18! No, just kidding! As parents, we need to realize that things happen and that kids will be kids...even though some kids like me really do some idiotic things while growing up.