Today I am surrounded by a trashed house that hasn't seen any love for the past week and is in desperate need of a little attention. Due to the amount of work that I need to do to put this house back together I am having a hard time thinking of a memory today, because thinking about doing housework is very mentally taxing you know. Wait! I just remembered something. When I was in Utah a week ago, my brother and I were talking about a time when he split his head open. I don't remember how old we were, but I remember the house we lived in, the one on Asbury Circle, which means that I was probably 6 or something like that. Anyhoo, My parents went out that night and we had a babysitter. Knowing what my nephews are like, I am sure that there is a good possibility that my brother was messing around in some physical manner which caused him to fall onto the brick hearth of the fireplace and split his head open. Sadly, the babysitter freaked out and proved to be rather useless in this situation and so it was up to me to swoop in and save the day. I called 911 and it is possible that I called my parents as well, although I really don't know if the calling my parents part of the story is true (but it sounds good don't you think?). Either way, I was the hero. Yes, my brother is alive to this day due to my quick actions and my brilliance in knowing what to do in case of an emergency. You're welcome Mike. You can make it up to me this summer in niece and nephew snuggles. And now I must go and clean something.
**UPDATE** So, according to my Dad, my brother was rocking back and forth on our little wooden rocking chair when he fell and hit his head on the brick hearth. Also, it turns out that I didn't call 911, but I did call them to come home which they did and then they took my brother to the hospital to have his head stitched up. Not quite as dramatic, but I still say that I saved his life. Well, at the least I saved his head.
On a side note: My memory is seriously slipping these days. I can barely remember last week let alone the details of my childhood which leads me to believe that the future of my memory is not looking very bright. Not good.
1 comment:
I believe your brother was aggressively rocking in our little, child's rocking chair and fell back and hit his head on the edge of the hearth. Yes, We were called home. We took Mike to the hospital where they strapped him to a wooden gurney and stitched up his little gash in the back of his head. I can't exactly remember, but something tells me Mom took him off the gurney and held him tight while they stitched.
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