It's story time

So, I (Justin) have been doing some writing while here. I have begun work on many, many projects, one of which is something akin to memoirs, assuming a 27 year-old with hopefully more than half his life ahead of him can have memoirs. At the very least, I am putting down stories from my childhood while I can remember them and have time. My wife liked the one I read her so much that she convinced me to post it here. With that, I give you the story of how I split my head open the first time.

When I was four, the first of many traumatic experiences happened to me. We were at Vacation Bible School, which was basically week-long Sunday School. When you are four, however, it is nothing short of the funnest thing all summer. It was lunch time in the middle of the week, and all we assorted hellions were corralled in the cafeteria space. Because I was a four year-old boy, I had the appetite of a termite and the grace of a firecracker. I finished early as I always did, and I came to an amazingly momentous decision in the life of any four year-old. I was going to show everyone how strong I was! I mean, I am four years-old. You can't really get any bigger or better until you are actually a daddy, so rock on!

I sprinted across the gym to the equipment room. Why it was unlocked and able to be accessed by small children, I will never know. I spotted three or four ladders stacked on top of each other. These are the really short A-frame kinds you used to find in gyms across wherever, used for obstacle courses etc. To my mighty four year-old stature, they were gargantuan and tall, perfect for my daring feet of strength. I dragged them (I'm not sure how) to the door and out onto the concrete in front of the volleyball court. I then tied one end of a jump rope to myself, and the other to one of the rungs or supports on the lowest A-frame, and set out on my titantic quest. I would pull them across the gym, and everyone would marvel at how strong I was! I remember this thought process consciously, noting my early need to prove my worth to those around me.

Now, I had never heard the term physics let alone 'friction,' so I can honestly blame my error in judgment on ignorance, not stupidity. I gave a mighty tug, and then felt the line go slack. This puzzled me as I was supposed to feel it give slightly and then groan in resistance as my herculean strength hauled it across the concrete floor. I began to turn just in time to feel something very solid thump into the back of my head. That is about all I remember by myself. The story picks up with the attendants running screaming across the gym to find me lying in a puddle of blood with a small pile of ladders on top of me while I scream my head off. At least I think I was. I'll claim that I was screaming. It sounds better than passing out like a pansy three year-old.

Now, this particular Vacation Bible School was run by our church's co-op daycare. It so happened that on this particular day, my mother was there serving in the room with the children too small to cause ultimate disasters. I still remember who picked me up whilst screaming, willing to get my god-like blood all over them. It was Leslie Garl. She rushed me to the daycare room where my mother was. My mom happened to be on the phone with my father at work discussing something parental and domestic. As Leslie carried me crying (my expression of pain had matured greatly by now) into the same room as my mother, my mom's eyes grew wide. She began to edge away from the phone. "Oh my God! Justin's covered in blood!" *Click* My dad was left wondering helplessly 8 miles away what had happened to his oldest child. He very calmly called the daycare back.

"Oh hi Phil. Actually, no, your wife is kind of busy right now. Well, yes, your son has been hurt, I'm not sure..." Enter the calm, serene, and imposing voice of my loving father.
"NO. STOP. YOU ARE GOING TO GET DEBBIE ON THE PHONE RIGHT NOW AND HAVE HER TELL ME EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED TO MY SON."

That is about where this particular memory stops, and the family breaks into chuckling over a holiday meal, reliving the first of many momentous injuries I have chalked up.