I broke my arm in the first, second, and third grades.
It really wasn't that hard. I really never had to work at it.
(Just call it a natural ability).
I am the middle child in my family. Seems like I spent most of my childhood running after my big sister hoping she would let me play. Like most pesky kid sisters I would do outrageous things to get her to pay attention to me. (Yes, I was an exhibitionist even back then, thank you for asking!)
The first time I broke my arm I was roller-skating on broken payment. We had skates that clamped onto your shoes with a skate key (anyone remember them?) My sister was riding a bike and I was trying to "keep up with her on my skates". She did not want me following her so rode faster than I could skate. I went down a small incline too fast, couldn't stop so slammed into a parked car.
The doctor called in "a greenstick fracture". It was my left wrist and I wore a cast for six weeks. It itched, covered my wrist and elbow, and my sister carried my book bag for me.
The following year I really broke my arm! No greenstick fractures for this kid. I was playing on the monkey bars at the park. I had seen this neat trick on TV and thought I would attempt it. It consisted of hanging upside down ( no one had explained gravity to me and my attempt was quickly crushed as well as my left arm!)
The following year I really broke my arm! No greenstick fractures for this kid. I was playing on the monkey bars at the park. I had seen this neat trick on TV and thought I would attempt it. It consisted of hanging upside down ( no one had explained gravity to me and my attempt was quickly crushed as well as my left arm!) I remember going home with my mangled arm telling my dad, "I can't bend my arm." I had surgery to repair my left wrist. We went to the same ER, same doctor and I wore a long cast for six weeks. It was hot, it itched, it smelled funky by the sixth week and it didn't get me out of any school work.
My sister started calling me a "klutz" and made me carry my own book bag.
The following year I broke my arm again. This time it really wasn't my fault. We were playing touch football in the yard. We had all the "big kids" and even some of the dads were playing with us. I had the football and was running for the goal when I got tackled by a dad. A big dog pile ensued and the arm around the football was crushed and I had the wind knocked out of me.
I left the game crying and was called a "baby" by the dad who fell on me. Again, same ER, same doctor, same outcome. This time my sister made me go over to the neighbor's house and demanded he apologizes to me for calling me a baby.
When I went to get the cast "cut off" the doctor looked at me very gruffly and said, "Young lady, you break this arm again and I'll cut it off!" I believed him and never broke my arm again!
When I went to get the cast "cut off" the doctor looked at me very gruffly and said, "Young lady, you break this arm again and I'll cut it off!" I believed him and never broke my arm again! 