Learning Experience

The shape of the letter D. That's the shape my fingers were in for months. I'll never trust a bouncy house again. Huh? Oh it's you. Well since you caught me muttering about my fingers, I guess I'd better tell you.

 

One November my friend, Bill, invited me to his brother's birthday party at bouncing off the walls. I accepted, not knowing what fate would befall me, leaving me scarred for life! Don't worry it won't leave you scarred for life. In fact that's what I'm trying to avoid by telling you this, so you won't be as stupid as me.

 

Okay I'm going to give you a warning right now. If your family's a fan of Bouncing Off The Walls (that's where the party was) or places like that and you're easily scared already, I suggest you DON'T continue reading. What you read may stop your like of bouncy houses forever! Please, I don't want to be the one to discourage you from fun. Let the parents do that; it's their job after all. It's really even almost too painful to talk about. I couldn't bear it if you were discouraged in some way by my writings from attending bouncy houses anymore!

 

Okay, now that they're gone we can get to the really horrible details. I of course accepted the invitation. I had been at Bouncing Off The Walls a few times before and it's actually pretty fun. So, someone (William AKA Bill) had the bright idea of rolling down the edge of the slide and departing off the edge, and some genius (me) had the bright idea of following him. The result? The genius (me again) took a tumble and ended up at the bottom of the slide with a broken wrist. I was rushed to my house by Bill's mom and then straight to the hospital.

 

Here's what happened from my mom's side of the story, the inside that is she came down the stairs to hear Mrs. Johnson my math teacher and Bill's mom (don't ask) saying, “It's really bad.” Mom thought, “Oh no. What could he possibly have done to get him pulled out of the party this early?” Then dad explained and I was rushed to the emergency room. It turned out I had broken my wrist and needed a cast. But before the cast came the sling, and I don't mean the stone-throwing kind David used to kill Goliath with. They had to put me to sleep and not like they do with dogs that don't have a chance of living, believe me when I say I've made that mistake one time too many, but that's an entirely different story involving my chocolate lab named Wonka. When I came to I was sitting in a bed with gadgets all over and needles and meters all over me and a T.V. in front of me. I decided not to let a perfectly good T.V. go to waste and so I promptly began to browse the channels for … anything really. I ended up watching Shrek the Third.

 

I was hungry so someone gave me some crackers and a juice box. Not even a box of crackers, just those little three-packs of saltines. But the juice was good. I was brought out of the hospital in a wheelchair, I remember asking how long I was going to have it. But the nurses misunderstood and thought I was talking about my sling so they said a couple months and then I got confused.

When we got home I picked up on video games right away I had this sort of hold on the top screen of my DS with my pinky finger and … you know? It's kind of hard to explain it.  Bill and his mom brought me tons of goodies to make me feel better. Of course my little siblings snatched some those little … I'll get them for that. The sling didn't stop me from being my usual helpful self. At every thanksgiving my family has this huge dinner with the entire family. When we're all done we clean up and I get to operate this massive vacuum cleaner. It's really fun and not even being in a sling stopped me from doing it.

 

After a while I was promoted to cast. When I got the pins taken out of my wrist, what? I didn't mention any pins? Well I just did now so be quiet and let me tell my story if you must know they came with the sling. One of the pins came out shiny and clean while the other was covered in blood and other things I'd rather not discuss. I got a brace to make sure I healed straight. The whole procedure left me with nothing more than a circular (not lightning-bolt) scar on my left wrist (not my forehead) and the knowledge of how smart I really was, (In other words not very.) and if I catch you sliding down the edge of the small slide to depart at the edge for fun because you read this, I'm going to punch you in the head to protect you. Hey, a nick on the noggin is worse than a wacky wrist.

So you wanna know if there's a moral? Might as well ask if the moon's made of cheese. But I suppose I could tell you one or two things that I learned. First off don't take advice from your friend without saying to yourself, “if I were Allen would I do this?” and if the answer is yes don't do it. Unless it's something like petting a bunny then you can go right ahead and if you lose a finger … or an arm, or a head I'll pay full charges for your medical bill. Just kidding you probably won't lose an arm or head. But watch your fingers, just in case. 

 

Anyway back to me. I've never forgotten that day, my scar won't let me, but the way it impacted me the most is that I will always follow the safety rules at any place to have fun.