Living out in the country on a farm was dangerous. It's a wonder any if us lived to tell it, but we somehow all made it through. A few of the injuries I am aware of happened to me. When I was around 3 or 4 I was playing in my grandparent Anderson's backyard where I had a nice one-room playhouse. I believe it's the same one that later ended up in my own yard. Anyway, I was "painting" it with a little paintbrush and a mason jar of water. When it was time to come into the house I carried the jar with me, but being a kid, I managed to trip and came crashing down onto the concrete back step. The jar broke into jagged pieces, and my right wrist received a 3" gash that was also pretty deep. Mom wrapped a towel around it and rushed me to Dr. Bohmfalk's office where I received stitches to close up the wound. I'm sure people in the next county heard my wails and I still bear a pretty awesome scar. I remember this event very well, I'm sorry to say.
Another time I managed to come away with scars was when Carol and I were making our way sideways along a fence rail near the canal. The object was to keep from stepping on the ground because there were vicious imaginary alligators waiting to eat us up if we set foot on the dirt. So in an effort not to meet that terrible fate, when I started to fall off the rail instead of stepping down I grabbed the top of a big sheet of corrugated tin that was leaning on the opposite side of the fence. I grabbed it hard and ended up with slices across the top joints of three fingers.
When I was about 4 we adopted a kitten from somewhere. It was probably a stray. I totally remember putting the kitten on top of my head and wearing it for a hat. WHY??? It wasn't long before Mike and I developed nasty white sores on our arms and legs, and I also had them on top of my head. Mom tried curing us by putting straight alcohol on them. I can't begin to tell you how much that hurt! But that was not the answer and we had to go to a dermatologist in Harlingen to get our ringworms treated. My head was shaved and stayed that way for months. I had to have a greasy cream applied to my scalp, which left a greasy smudge on the fabric lining of the car roof, because I rode standing up in the middle of the front seat with my head rubbing the fabric. When I was finally cured and my hair grew back, Mom and Aunt Rosemary gave me a perm. I was so disappointed when I looked in the mirror when they were done with their magic and saw that instead of a beautiful head of flowing curls I had tiny kinks all over my head.
Other stories involved other family members. Apparently, when he was a kid Weldon was told not to play in the hay loft. But he did it anyway and ended up with a pitchfork poked into his leg. He had the scars a prove it. When he was about 6 years old, he was sleeping in the back of the model T or model A or whatever it was they had. The car went over a railroad track and it was so bumpy that he was actually thrown out of the car, landing on his head and breaking both eardrums. He had a hearing problem from then on.
When Mike was a toddler his patents were doing some house painting. He got thirsty and decided to drink what he mistakenly thought was water. It turned out to be naphtha, which is pretty much like turpentine. Not a good thing. Then when he was in 4th or 5th grade he received a pea shooter in the class Christmas gift exchange. Instead of exhaling to shoot the hard "pea" out the straw, he accidentally inhaled and the pea went down his windpipe. I don't remember the details, but I know he ended up in the hospital, and I remember that the word "ether" was used.
Of course there were hundreds of minor incidents as well. I don't think a day went by that we didn't get new scrapes, cuts, bruises, thorns, and stickerburs. Kids today don't know what they're missing.
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