Bang
I’ve spent too much time getting hit in the head growing up. Some who know me will say that explains a lot.
It started at a young age, three, I think. I was not the most graceful of tykes. At an age when my head was still a little soft (ok, ok, stop that snickering), I toddled my way right into the edge of a door jamb. I don’t recollect the incident but I am told I knocked myself out for a few minutes. In fact, I still have a nice little dent in my forehead from that bit of swiftness. And a weird urge to fall on the floor every time a door shuts.
At about age five, I was pretty certain my sister would stop the glider she as riding on the swing set when I got in front of it and yelled, “Stop!” She was only about five feet up in the air, after all. I’d like to blame that mental fart on my previous doorjamb experience, but I think I was just a clueless dork. That one I remember. Or at least I remember stepping in front of it, then a big blank spot and waking up on the couch with an icepack stuck to my forehead and a headache that made me wish baby aspirin came in cake size.
I think my sister thought it was pretty funny.
She must have, because a few years later she decided to see which was harder, my head or a rock. The rock won.
In fourth grade, one of my so-called friends decided to test the theory again, this time with the school pavement. Another big-time headache. I’m pretty sure by that time I could hear my brains sloshing around.
I managed to go a few years bang free after that. As a late teen, I hit a heavy bag too hard once that was mounted to a two by four to the ceiling in our cellar. The board wrenched loose and nailed me in the top of the head. TKO, round one, advantage bag.
Despite repeated head blows, I’m pretty normal now. Ok, no, I’m not. Sometimes I get old repeats of The Brady Bunch at the worst possible moment on my mind screen. That’s not so groovy. And there’s that whole Me and the Chimp flashback problem…
Hmmm. Maybe those who know me ARE right. It explains a lot.
It started at a young age, three, I think. I was not the most graceful of tykes. At an age when my head was still a little soft (ok, ok, stop that snickering), I toddled my way right into the edge of a door jamb. I don’t recollect the incident but I am told I knocked myself out for a few minutes. In fact, I still have a nice little dent in my forehead from that bit of swiftness. And a weird urge to fall on the floor every time a door shuts.
At about age five, I was pretty certain my sister would stop the glider she as riding on the swing set when I got in front of it and yelled, “Stop!” She was only about five feet up in the air, after all. I’d like to blame that mental fart on my previous doorjamb experience, but I think I was just a clueless dork. That one I remember. Or at least I remember stepping in front of it, then a big blank spot and waking up on the couch with an icepack stuck to my forehead and a headache that made me wish baby aspirin came in cake size.
I think my sister thought it was pretty funny.
She must have, because a few years later she decided to see which was harder, my head or a rock. The rock won.
In fourth grade, one of my so-called friends decided to test the theory again, this time with the school pavement. Another big-time headache. I’m pretty sure by that time I could hear my brains sloshing around.
I managed to go a few years bang free after that. As a late teen, I hit a heavy bag too hard once that was mounted to a two by four to the ceiling in our cellar. The board wrenched loose and nailed me in the top of the head. TKO, round one, advantage bag.
Despite repeated head blows, I’m pretty normal now. Ok, no, I’m not. Sometimes I get old repeats of The Brady Bunch at the worst possible moment on my mind screen. That’s not so groovy. And there’s that whole Me and the Chimp flashback problem…
Hmmm. Maybe those who know me ARE right. It explains a lot.
More From This Author
