At the ripe old age of 10, I was the coolest cat on the block. Its true, just ask me. I was the tom boy of all tom boys. I lived to run with the boys. Girls were drama, pink lip gloss, and frou-frou dresses. Not me. I had converse in every color, a BMX bike, and a strong desire to run the streets bare-foot covered in dirt and grime from sun-up until the street lights came on.
My brother and his friends were my hearts desire. I followed them everywhere. Wanted to be where they were, wear what they wore, and do what they did. It was the Fall of my fifth grade year and the newest fad was skateboarding. I knew that if I wanted to "be cool" I'd have to master the art of balancing on one of these contraptions. I needed to impress the guys and learn a trick or two while I was at it. Against objections from my parents I bought a skateboard with my saved up allowance. In my attempt to fit in, I fell out. Literally.
I may or may not have been intentionally "showing off" on my skate board as the Elementary Bus was making its rounds in my neighborhood dropping off kids on a Thursday afternoon. Just two weeks into owning my own board, I was on top of the world. I'd mastered pushing off and rolling along the driveway without incident. As the bus rounded the curve on my street, I sped up, wanting to make sure the passengers noticed my ability to effortlessly glide down the pavement. I think its important to tell you, that my skateboard did NOT come with a manual. There wasn't a single warning or label telling me how necessary it would be to look ahead, down even as you glide down the smooth surface of the pavement. I looked up and waved at the children admiring how "cool" I was. It was at that moment that the front wheel of my skateboard was abruptly stopped by a small pebble catapulting me forward arms flailing out in front of me in an attempt to keep my face from greeting the pavement. Though throwing my arms out in front of me saved my face, my bones weren't unscathed. I'm not sure what was worse, the pain in my arm or the embarrassment of falling in front of those who I was convinced looked up to me and admired my mad skills...
I just about died of embarrassment but at the same time, I was in a lot of pain. I got up and grabbed my board horrified at the thought of the elementary kids laughing at my folly. I got inside before I allowed myself to cry. My mom, with that "I told you so" look in her eyes got me an ice pack. Being the girl scout that she wasn't, she folded a magazine in half and secured it as a brace with an old ace bandage that my dad had in the medicine cabinet. I had a long four day weekend ahead of me yet didn't enjoy a minute of it, as I spent my time laying around the house convinced that my arm needed to be amputated. On Tuesday morning I arrived at school and went into gym, my first period and favorite class. When I chose not to dress out and participate, my coach knew something was wrong. He sent me to the nurse where my arm was unwrapped and inspected. Within minutes, my dad was on his way to pick me up.
We headed to the hospital to get my arm x-rayed. To say my parents felt guilty for telling me to "stop exaggerating" would be an understatement. My wrist and elbow were full of hairline fractures and I was casted for the next 8 weeks. Yep, I was the kid walking around with a purple cast from just under my armpit down to my knuckles. On the plus side, I am right handed and it was my right arm...which came with perks. I got a lot of help writing my assignments out. I got to leave class early and have a friend tag along with me...you know, to carry my things. :) I also attracted a lot of attention and made some new friends along the way. Everyone wanted to know how I injured my arm. I didn't tell the story in detail, but "I was totally doing this rad move and almost landed it! It was awesome!" Yea...I was that cool.
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