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This is post #6 in my Writer’s Block series. For a bit more info, click HERE.
Writer’s Block – Prompt #6: “Write about a childhood experience that made you cry.”
I don’t remember crying much when I was a child. I was blessed enough to have very little to cry about…so the few times I do remember me actually crying were due to some accident.
I remember when I was eight years old, I was finally old enough to go to a summer camp called Loch Leven in the San Bernardino mountains. It was sponsored by a friend’s church each year with children ranging in ages from 8 to 13 years old. It was an amazing place…every once in a while, I’ll mention it to my brother, and we’d start reminiscing about the camp (the Swinging Bridge, the Watermelon Hike, the camp newspaper, hiking up to Pike’s Peak and looking down onto the Flying Diapers…)
One day, on my very first time at the camp, our group went swimming. I didn’t know how to swim, but I was excited to go to the pool. I remember dangling my feet in the deep end (6 feet) and somehow I fell in. Since it was only 6-feet deep, I hit the bottom, rebounded back to the surface, and grabbed the edge. That shocked me for a quick second, so I decided to get out of the pool and go to the shallow end.
Lifeguards and counselors always tell kids to stop running around the pool…it’s slippery and it’s easy to fall on the pavement. Well…I decided to run from the deep end over to the shallow end…but I never made it. I slipped on a wet spot of the pavement and my foot got caught underneath the chain link fence. This is a picture of a chain link fence:
The criss-crossed ends at the top were also on the bottom of the fence. One of those metal ends of the fence tore a hole the size of a button in between my smallest toe and the one next to it. Blood starting pouring out (not oozing, not dripping…POURING).
I’ve cried at different times in my life, but this crying came with yelling. I cried and screamed something awful. One of the counselors wrapped me in a towel, got me to a director, and they put me in a car to take me to the hospital. I actually remember yelling and crying all the way as the car wound its way around the mountain. When we got to the hospital, the counselor (or maybe it was the director) carried me into the hospital (still in my light blue Sesame Street swim trunks…and still crying at the top of my lungs).
The doctor put some kind of anaesthetic on my foot and then stitched me up. By the time he was done with the stitching, I was done with the crying.
So I’ve learned my lesson about running around the pool area. Maybe in a later post, I’ll write about making it into the camp newspaper for having a record 77 mosquito bites at one time.