Blast from the Past

I think as a weekly theme, I'd like to post a favorite memory of the past. Or, not necessarily favorite, but something quite vivid.

Here's #1: The First Stitches

At four years old, I was destined to be a gymnast. I would jump and somersault off the old-fashioned radiator. My younger brother was drinking juice out of a baby bottle ( at two? What a loser) and I desperately needed a sip since I had been sweating and burning calories from tumbling and practicing my routines in the living room, my gym. As he was the youngest at the time and quite stingy, he failed to give me any of his drink. I know I said juice earlier, but it probably was Kool Aid.

As any dehydrated four year old athlete would do, I brought in my intimidation factor. By beating on my chest and threatening to kill him, he was sure to give in. Instead of my terrible two brother folding, he wound up and whipped that bottle at me.

Straight shot to my oversized Finnish dome and sliced open my forehead. And then, I was off to the emergency room. Sadly, I do not have a picture of this, but maybe this will be close: a bleeding gymnast who earns gold.

This is graphic, yet accurate. Notice all of that authentic blood. My main injury was the head, but my ankle also hurt.