Tell a story from your childhood. Dig deep and try to be descriptive about what you remember and how you felt.I'm glad it doesn't have to be your favorite memory...because I think that would be hard to pick a favorite. Never mind that the one that I thought of doesn't exactly scream favorite. I have been thinking about this experience today actually. Brian and I are thinking about buying a house in our neighborhood that has base-board heating vents....which because of this experience I hate!
So I am 5 years old, it is the second day of kindergarten, and I am home after school playing with my sister (who is almost 4 at the time). We have a basement in our house that worked as our playroom. We had a small toy trampoline, probably two feet off the ground if that. But to my little self it was a great toy. We decided to play lifeguard and the trampoline served as our lifeguard stand. We got our dollies and they were swimming in the pool. The pool was our carpet. I think I was even wearing a bell around my neck from Christmas as a whistle.
So, I ran from my stand to save my baby doll and came running back to my trampoline. I tripped over the trampoline and my forehead hit the base-board heating vents. The interesting thing was that I knew I shouldn't move. My sister came over and saw the blood I think. I told her to go get mom....in a perfectly calm voice (at least to me). This part is my favorite...but naturally I wasn't there so this is what she told me afterward. My sister apparently went upstairs, while my mom was on the phone with my dad and said that I was broken. Mom quickly told my dad that she would call him back and she came downstairs. I don't remember how but I ended up upstairs with my mom attaching a pad to my forehead and my dad coming home to take me to the hospital.
After that I remember being in a hospital room with my dad, a doctor (I think) came by and checked out my forehead. He was pretty nice. Then I remember the nurses coming in with a shot. But I never heard them say anything and they just grabbed my ankle. I didn't like shots (still don't) so I was screaming, crying, and wriggling away. I remember Dad asking them what they were trying to do because he could help. They were trying to give me anesthesia through a shot in my butt. Dad told me what was going on and helped them turn me--I don't think I ever really calmed down but I stopped fighting. I woke up with something like 15 stitches...though it might have been a few less than that....and a permanent scar. To this day I still get questions :P