BOLTON: Accidents happen | Archive

The adults were chatting inside the house while my brothers and I went outside to play in the yard. As we were looking around for something to do, we spotted a beautiful, large chinaberry tree with a branch about 8 feet tall sticking out steeply. To us, this looked like the perfect tree to play on.

Across the yard we saw a long, thick board. It was probably 10 feet long, 10 inches wide, and 2 inches thick. My brothers and I walked over and Richard lifted one end of the board and Mike and I lifted the other.

We started carrying it across the yard to the tree, but you have to remember we were five, six and eight years old and the board was very, very heavy. We knew if we could get the board to the tree and over the branch, we could climb right up. Oh, the fun we would have then. Climbing into the tree, jumping out of the tree and climbing up and down the board.

The best laid plans don’t always go as planned, though. We were only a short distance from the tree when Richard suddenly dropped his end from his hands. Every time he dropped his end, it was like a chain reaction that caused Mike and I to lose ours. Mike somehow managed to get his feet out of the way, but the big old board landed right on my big toe on my left foot. Blood splattered everywhere, and I mean everywhere.

Everyone in the house came running out when they heard all the commotion. Dad took one look and saw that my toe was completely busted, so we headed to the hospital in Pinehurst. That was my first time in the emergency room, but it certainly won’t be my last. The young doctor on duty there was very nice to me. He even told me he would give me a quarter if I didn’t cry. I’ve never been a crier, so I bit my lip and didn’t cry because I really wanted the money.

My mom had to change the bandage on my foot every day for the next week, but she didn’t seem to mind because she always liked to take care of anyone who was sick or injured. I think I kind of enjoyed all the attention I got because of my injury.

Whenever someone asked me what happened to my foot, I always said it was Richard’s fault because he dropped his end of the board and we dropped ours because of it. I’m sure he got terribly sick of hearing me say it was his fault.

Isn’t that the same with us humans? When things don’t go the way we want, we always want to blame someone else. We never want to take the blame ourselves.

I would like to be able to say that in the years since that first accident, I have learned to take responsibility for my own actions. I wish that were true, but it just hasn’t always been that way.

I’m very afraid that inside I’m still like that five-year-old kid who wanted to blame someone else and said, “It was Richard, it was Richard.”

Since I certainly never said it then, I just want to say now: Richard, I’m sorry for blaming you for something that I know wasn’t your fault.

This visit to the emergency room was just the first of many for me. There have been several since then, and there may be a few more from now on. I sincerely hope not, but so far my record is not very good.

I’m sure my worst accident happened on February 28, 1978, when I wrecked our first new car. It was a bright yellow Plymouth Duster with a black racing stripe down the side. It was bad to the bone.

We built our house and on our lunch break I headed to the carpet store to pick out our flooring. It was drizzling; just enough to make visibility difficult. I tried to get onto Highway 74 from the road that goes past the old library in Rockingham. They say I drove in front of a car, but I honestly don’t remember. The first thing I remember is waking up and a member of the rescue squad telling me I’d been in an accident and to try not to move while they got me out.

Believe me, this is not the kind of thing you want to be on the front page of the local newspaper. But that’s exactly what happened – I was sitting in my car when they had to break down the door to get me out.

I had broken my collarbone, pelvis and ribs. Our yellow car with the racing stripes didn’t look too good either. It was a total write-off and that’s how I felt when I woke up and went to the emergency room.

It’s really hard to get old and think about how many accidents you’ve had and how many broken bones you’ve had and hope you don’t get arthritis in your joints.

As the saying goes, “Growing old is not for wimps.”