It was the early 80's. I turned off my Fisher Price My First Cassette Player and I laced my Strawberry Shortcake roller skates up as I headed outside. My hair in a long brown braid down my back, my terry-cloth shorts jumper keeping me cool, I was ready. I was 7 and about to do something really stupid. My girlfriend and I thought that it'd be a great idea to tie my jump rope to the back of her banana-seat bike. I, of course, would hold on and coast around the block on my roller skates. Now, these were the days before helmets (you'd look like a dork), knee pads and elbow pads. Just lots of that excruciating Band-Aid spray and large Band-Aids. Never mind that I wasn't even allowed to go around the block without an adult...I was going to go around the block holding onto a Rainbow Brite jump-rope and a dream. We headed out with our delusions of grandeur and immediately I had a rush of adrenaline. The wind whipping my long braid behind me like the tail of a kite was exhilarating. Then utter failure. I lived on a tree-lined suburban street in NJ. This was before the great blight of the Chestnut trees. One of my favorite past times was collecting shopping bags full of chestnuts. The chestnuts had their turn. At life-threatening speeds I felt my pink wheels hit something . They jerked to an abrupt halt and my feet stayed behind while my upper body, still being propelled forward by that magical jump-rope tied to the back of an engineering masterpiece, continued forward. There's nothing quite like the feeling of skin being raked away by concrete, is there? My teeth clattered as my chin hit the ground first and then my elbows, stomach and knees joined the party. I was crying as I was picking the pebbles out of my cuts. My friend drove speedily home, her pigtails and Rainbow Brite jump rope trailing behind her like a white flag of retreat. I was hurt, I was bleeding, I wanted my mommy and the worst part was that I couldn't even tell my mom the truth about what had happened because I had injured myself by disobeying her. I don't remember the excuse I gave, but I do remember the wet wash cloth, the stinging spray, the bandages and the ice pop that made me forget my tears and run back outside to play.
Now that was one of only a thousand spills that I took as a kid. I was all arms and legs, and never quite graceful so the ground and I were well-acquainted. When I think of all the hard falls that I took as a little girl and how I would just bounce right back up after a quick band aid or a little spit on the wound it amazes me. When you're a kid you really can take a beating! Not so much as an adult.
I learned the real truth of this for the first time in the summer of 2007. I had purchased a Slip-N-Slide for the kids. One super-hot day I set it up in our backyard. My children were excited, but not as excited as I was. My mother would never let us get one when I was little. "Too dangerous and a waste of water," was her reasoning. I, not being my mother, thought that our backyard wouldn't be complete without one. Feeling like a little kid again, I told my kids to stand back and watch Mommy. I took a few steps back and took off running. Sending my arms in front of me I dove onto my belly on that slippery promise of cool, summer fun. When my 5'10" frame hit that ground I felt, not bliss, but all of my ribs bending back in ways they weren't meant to and my shoulders being jammed into their sockets. What the heck was that? I quickly hauled myself up so as not to frighten the children (who were so worried they were laughing hysterically at me) and limped away. My oldest pointed out the warning label on the front of the slide which states that anyone over the age of 13 and over 120 lbs. should not use the Slip-N-Slide or possibly suffer serious injury. Seeing as how I was 13 years old and 120 lbs. a looong time ago, I wished that I had read that before my big leap of faith. The long and short of it? I ended up with bursitis in my shoulder. I cannot believe that I am admitting that I got bursitis in my shoulder from flopping onto a Slip-N-Slide. Not exactly the bounce back that I used to have as a kid.
Today was another one of those reminders that I'm not a spring chicken anymore. After school I took the kids to the Nature Center where we spent some quality time looking at the various reptiles and amphibians in the Wildlife Center. We bird-watched for awhile from the aviary room and even got to get up-close and personal with some deer and a wild turkey that kept pecking at his reflection on the bumper of my van. We headed out for some pizza at a local pizza shop and then stopped by my in-laws so that Jason could change into his snow gear. He was heading to a fun night at Camp Gaw for snow tubing with his youth group. I was loading the kids into the car and went around to the back of the van to load the gear in. That's when my feet went in one direction and my head went in another. Apparently there was a big patch of black ice in the sloping driveway that I didn't see and I went down like a ton of bricks. I smacked my right side hard against the back bumper of the van before I hit the asphalt. The only thing running through my mind was, "Oh sh*t!" I won't lie. It was quick, there wasn't time for too much introspection. Anyway, as I made my way, shaken and sore, but intact, to the driver's seat I noticed that my pinkie was throbbing. I remembered that I had banged it hard on the way down and just figured it would go away. Driving down the road the finger began to feel hot and then numb, so I lifted my hand in front of my face to asses the damage. Yikes, are pinkies supposed to bend that way? So now what? I have to get my kid to the slopes, it's almost 6pm so no Dr.'s are open. I do not want to go to the ER. I decided to drop Jay off and head to, "Dr. Bill" A.K.A my husband. He looked at it kind of cross-eyed and we agreed that taping it up until tomorrow would suffice. After all, it was now almost 6:30, the girls still had to do their homework, Bill had Praise Band practice, and someone would have to pick Jay up @ 9. Who has time for a broken finger? Definitely not I!
It's very different getting a boo-boo as a grown up. Seems like I'm a bit more fragile and susceptible to injury as I get older. It's funny how when I was a kid, I couldn't wait to be a big, strong, grown-up. It's a little harder to bounce back from things when your body gets set in its ways. No longer are bones soft for growth. They're already set and not willing to bend without breaking. Makes me wonder how am I in other situations, set in my ways unwilling to bend. When I get hurt now, I still call my Mommy and let her know. Sometimes there's some sympathy, but I'm a Mommy too now. I know how to comfort myself. I don't own that burning antiseptic spray, but I can stick on a mean band aid. When I get hurt from my own stubbornness, I also still call Mom, and she usually will talk me through it. Fortunately, I can also turn my injuries over to the Great Physician where I know that He will gather me in His arms like that little girl with the long, brown braid down her back, whether it's a physical injury or the sting of my own stubbornness, and comfort me as His precious child.
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