I’m accident prone. I wish I wasn’t, but I am. I can accidentally hurt myself in a room filled with pillows and stuffed animals. It’s not carelessness as much as it seems to be bad luck. It comes in waves. I’ll be fine for weeks and then suddenly, I’ll bruise my leg, and then I’ll get a papercut, and then I’ll stub my toe.
My parents discovered that I’m accident prone on Father’s Day back in 1995 when they heard my sister yelling upstairs to them, “Mom, Dad, Marc’s dying!” I didn’t think I was dying, but I also didn’t have a great conception of what death meant, no one does at the age of five. All I knew was that there was a lot of blood coming from my head, and that was bad, very bad.
This injury was not the resort of bad parenting or neglecting to child-proof the home. It was my own fault entirely. You see, I was running around the living room chasing a non-helium balloon and trying to keep it in the air, which was very important to me, and to be honest, I was good at it. I had dreams of turning this balloon game of mine into a popular sport.
I guess I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings because I ended up running head first into the corner of a wall. For the record, I did hit the balloon up into the air before the crash. I don’t remember feeling any pain and I don’t remember the drive to the hospital. I do remember the doctor joking or possibly joking that he could see my brain.
It was my first time getting stitches, but certainly not my last. I have since needed stitches on my chin, calf, and pinky finger. I still have an inch-long scar on my head that I attempt to cover up when I comb my hair.
Needless to say, it was the worst Father’s Day ever for my family. This year, instead of a trip to the hospital, I got my Dad a foot massager…and some Twizzlers, he loves Twizzlers. So, happy Father’s Day, Dad, and happy Father’s Day to all those amazing Dads out there who are constantly performing selfless acts for their children.
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Marc | Copywriter