My friends and I had seen the acrobats on TV where the heaviest member of the troop jumped on
the end of a teeter board and launched the smallest member into the air. We thought that looked
like great fun. I was the smallest, or at least the lightest. We planned pretty well, except that I had
no plan once I was six feet in the air. No problem about crying in front of my buddies; I was in too
much pain. Carried my arm in a bandana sling for a few days of school until finally my folks (prompted
by the school? I'll never know...) took me to Dr. Wasniak at the hospital and he literally snapped that
broken wrist back in place and plastered it into a nice warm cast ready for signatures at school. The
scariest part was having it sawed off a few weeks later. The toothy little vibrating saw wasn't dangerous,
but it looked dangerous. The male nurse ran it against his hand to reassure me. How do we survive
childhood?