A Story About a Broken Arm
David Salay
When I was 7, I had short bright blonde hair and intent little blues eyes. I was tall for my age, so naturally athletic. I loved to bike, play soccer, play baseball, and do anything else that involved physical activity. I was also a bit of a smartass, always trying to correct my superiors when I believed them to be wrong. The combination of these two factors could get me in trouble. One time at this age my friend dared me to moon 7th grade baseball team to distract them. I took up his challenge, of course– while simultaneously combining my love for baseball with my love for being a smartass (a literal smart-ass in this example.) I pulled down my pants and exposed my butt to an outfielder, distracting him from the task at hand and making him miss a ball that had been hit in his direction. On another occasion my friend’s cousin turned the light off in the attic while my friend, his brother, and I were all up there. I, being afraid of the dark, told my friend I was just going to jump for it down the stairs. My friend’s brother told me not to do it or I’d end up hurting myself. I didn’t listen to him, and instead I just jumped down the wooden stairs, hitting and scraping my butt on the way down. My tailbone was bruised for weeks after that.
Near where I lived there was a playground, connected to a woodsy area, where all the neighborhood children used to play. We’d have stick battles on the seesaw, stick battles on the slide; we’d chase each other around, and get into all sorts of mischief. One of my favorite things to do was climb. I had climbed at Peak Experiences, the local indoor rock-climbing facility, for many a birthday party but I had spent most of my time climbing up and down the trees in the woods behind the playground in our neighborhood. The biggest difference is that in the rock-climbing facility you have harnesses and ropes that keep you from falling, unlike the trees.
One day, I noticed a tree that could only be climbed if one were to
When I was 7, I had short bright blonde hair and intent little blues eyes. I was tall for my age, so naturally athletic. I loved to bike, play soccer, play baseball, and do anything else that involved physical activity. I was also a bit of a smartass, always trying to correct my superiors when I believed them to be wrong. The combination of these two factors could get me in trouble. One time at this age my friend dared me to moon 7th grade baseball team to distract them. I took up his challenge, of course– while simultaneously combining my love for baseball with my love for being a smartass (a literal smart-ass in this example.) I pulled down my pants and exposed my butt to an outfielder, distracting him from the task at hand and making him miss a ball that had been hit in his direction. On another occasion my friend’s cousin turned the light off in the attic while my friend, his brother, and I were all up there. I, being afraid of the dark, told my friend I was just going to jump for it down the stairs. My friend’s brother told me not to do it or I’d end up hurting myself. I didn’t listen to him, and instead I just jumped down the wooden stairs, hitting and scraping my butt on the way down. My tailbone was bruised for weeks after that.
Near where I lived there was a playground, connected to a woodsy area, where all the neighborhood children used to play. We’d have stick battles on the seesaw, stick battles on the slide; we’d chase each other around, and get into all sorts of mischief. One of my favorite things to do was climb. I had climbed at Peak Experiences, the local indoor rock-climbing facility, for many a birthday party but I had spent most of my time climbing up and down the trees in the woods behind the playground in our neighborhood. The biggest difference is that in the rock-climbing facility you have harnesses and ropes that keep you from falling, unlike the trees.
One day, I noticed a tree that could only be climbed if one were to