It was about 7:00pm and the day was cooling. I was four or five years old and outside playing on our swing set. Since it was the end of the summer, it was still light outside. My brother and I were having a contest on the swings to see who could go the highest.
After I won, I jumped of my swing and declared my intention to play on the monkey bars. I climbed the ladder to the bars and started across them.
“Heather, get down from there, you’re wearing a dress!” My mom called from inside the house.
“Just let me finish crossing!” I yelled back.
I crossed the bars, and instead of climbing down the ladder, I decided to be a daredevil and drop down. The entire swing set was metal, held together by screws that were extra long, so long they needed a plastic cap to protect the sharp edges. Unfortunately, when I dropped down, I brushed up against a support pole that had a screw missing its protective plastic cap.
I heard a rip, and knew my clothing had torn. I freaked out, because dropping down from the monkey bars was forbidden. So was playing in dresses. So was RUINING dresses.
“Kyle! Did I tear my dress?!”
He peered around me and gasped, “Hedder, I think you ripped your BUTT!”
I put my hand on my backside, and when I pulled it back it was covered in blood.
That’s when I started screaming.
My mom ran out and carried me back in the house, where she, my dad, and my grandma exampled my naked bleeding tush.
A diagram, for your understanding:
I made lightening bolt scars cool.
The Brain Trust of my parents and grandmother decided I didn’t need stitches, and I spent the next few days laying on my stomach, butt in the air. You know what? No one gives you gives you Popsicles for a ripped butt. It is a totally underrated child injury.
Unfortunately, my parents and grandma were wrong, and my ripped butt healed totally funky. Something like this:
Obviously my butt is wider (but still as perky) than it was 26 years ago.
It’s bumpy and the skin around it has stretch marks.
It ended my butt-model career, which was a bummer. I had such a future.
As scars go, it’s my most interesting. And, if I had to have a body part torn open, I’m very very glad it was my butt cheek and not, say, my vagina (c-section! Yay!).
Mike just came over and asked me what I was writing about. When I told him he said, “I didn’t know that story!” And now he’s trying to one-up me with bizarre injuries.
So, tell me your weird childhood injuries. There has to be one that’s better than tearing yourself a new one.