Okay, so I can’t remember much from 2nd grade. I can’t even remember my teacher’s name. I mean, I guess I could talk about how I got a rock to the head, but that’s not really very eventful besides the copious amounts of blood I was losing.
Oh, well, I guess I’ll talk about that painful day.
So I was home from school (at least I THINK it was a school day, or maybe it was in the summer?) and my sister and I were cavorting around the verdant front yard. During those years, there was an old, primordial tree on the side of the yard that my sister and brother were able to climb, but I could never get up there to hang out with them. So I got the stupidest idea: tie a rope around a rock, toss it over one of the branches and use it to climb up onto the tree.
Now, you would think that the rock would be pretty big. But it wasn’t. It was about the size of both of my fists combined; that’s pretty small. When I tossed the rock over one of the branches, I tested it out: I tugged on it quite violently, causing the rock to go back over the branch and land square on my head.
Now you’ve got to admit, I was bleeding pretty bad. Everything went white for a moment before the pain struck me. Letting out an articulate cry of pain, I held my head and began to bawl my eyes out. My sister, visibly distraught, jumped out of the tree to help me inside the house.
Now, my parents were pretty worried, as well, and my dad immediately started yelling at my sister, thinking that she was the one who did it. Of course, she didn’t, so um… yeah.
I was rushed to this special doctor that helped with scars and such.Apparently he was one of the doctors who helped in sewing my lip up. Ugh. I was quite feckless by the time we got there.
The waiting room was murky; dull, and not to mention foreboding. I think I had an ice pack on my head or something; I can’t really remember. Of course, the doctor was very unwonted; he seemed pretty happy to see me. I’m not sure why; I guess he likes to see small children in pain. Haha. Not really. I kid, of course.
I didn’t really pay attention to what he was saying; his verbiage was difficult to understand, anyways. All I knew was that I was going to be okay. I do believe he prescribed me some viscous goo to put on my head so my wound would heal.
And uh… that’s pretty much it. I don’t even think I have a scar from where the rock hit my head. Yeah, my life was pretty traumatic when I was a kid. It’s how it got me to where I am today, I suppose.
As for the symbolic song:
“Boy On A String” by Jars of Clay
The symbolic picture:
theneophytesblog 
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