Accident Prone

I had to steal this picture from my niece and nephews' site. I think that Kam Bam and Coop-a-loop did a terrific job of first aid. It probably would have taken me at least two boxes of band aids to get it right and I'm an eagle scout. It made me reminisce about some unfortunate injuries that for the most part I wrought upon myself. There was the broken wrist from a sabbath day skateboard accident in college. I followed that up a year later by breaking the same wrist when a combine attacked me (in my defense my dad taught me how to be an idiot). I was bit in the Snake River by a Cadillac that required stitches on my leg. For some reason I have had a number of head injuries. I know most of you can now connect the dots at to why I am the way am. One night after a dinner, in which undoubtedly there was some dare to see how many grapes, marshmallows, or whatever else was left on the table I could fit in my mouth, I challenged my dad to a wrestling match. I'm not sure who started it but my dad made sure he ended it. I was totally dominating him when he pulled the old rope-a-dope and body slammed me into the fire place. I split my head open but the best part was when my sister saw the blood, she puked. That was a nice addition. That required stitches (in my dad's defense he felt terrible and even volunteered to take me to the hospital). There was another time my brother and I were on the trampoline doing kung fu. We had a spinning clothesline nearby so being the genius that we were (and still are) we decided to move the tramp underneath it and take turns spinning it and seeing if we could time our jumps to clear the arms. Turns out my timing is pretty bad. Some more stitches in the head. I fear the day I go bald because me head is going to look like a Union Pacific train depot. I've decided that my unhealthy addiction to stitches stems from one incident in my childhood. I don't personally remember this near fatal experience but it was obviously traumatic. At the age of two or three I went with my mom and brother to Dr. Page's office. My brother was getting tested because my parents thought he might be "slow" (just kidding Brandon, we already knew you were slow). We were all in the exam room and my mom was talking to the doctor about my brother. I decided I was some sort of ninja bunny and did a flippity flop off the table. Apparently my mouth was open because I was so gnarly and smoked my bottom lip on a drawer. The good news was we didn't have to wait to see the doctor. A few stitches in the lip later and I was good as new, or so I thought. To this day I have that scare on my lower lip the reminds of I was the original extreme athlete.

I also have stories that involve my nose and church ball, my nose and a crow bar, and my ear and a blood-thirsty Q-tip if you are so inclined.