Tuesday, August 7, 2007

Guest Blogger Aaron Childs

Today’s guest blogger is Aaron Child’s. He is currently working towards a degree in business and this is from one of his writing assignments. Yes, it’s a true story and we thought you’d enjoy reading a page from his childhood.

The contest for Carly Phillips book Cross My Heart continues until Friday. Be sure and leave your comments to be entered.

Also, a reminder of Brenda Novak’s and Karen Rose’s "whodunit contest" is still going. Be sure and check it out. Not only are the prizes incredibly but how fun to play sleuth.

Now for your reading pleasure, here’s Aaron:

Broken Arm

Being wedged between a door and wall is not the most comfortable place. My older brother, Chris, had left me on my own to hold the door. My Mother, Father and sister were pushing but could not hear me screaming until it was too late. The pain was more than I could bear but my parents would experience the greatest pain of all.

When I was in the first grade my parents were very playful. They would be washing the dishes and Father would splash Mother with some water. She would splash him back and the flood gates seemed to have opened up. Water went flying through the air, in slow motion, until it hit its target. The floor became slippery and everyone armed themselves with the weapon of his or her choice. I let out a war cry and used a cup to drench my Father. My sister, Regina, tried to wrestle the cup from my little hands. Chris grabbed a squirt gun from his room and started his onslaught. Mother yelled at Father then turned her attention to Chris. Mercy was not a common virtue that night.

My cup was empty and Chris ran out of ammo. Things became interesting at this moment. My Father charged us like a human juggernaut. Chris and I knew what was coming. If Father caught us, Chris and I, would be tickled until our faces turned blue. Chris and I both turned simultaneously and bolted down the hall. My Father, Mother and Regina followed in hot pursuit. We kept running until we reached Chris’ room. We slammed the door and blocked it with our bodies. We pushed with all our might because failure was not an option.

Chris realized our efforts were futile and abandoned his post. He ran to the back of the room and I was left to face the strength of a mob. The door began to open and I became wedged between the door and wall. As the door was closing in on me I saw my left arm began to deform.

My arm bent at the elbow but something was wrong. Tears dribbled down my cheek and I began to cry. My arm was bending the wrong way! I screamed louder and the door released me from my prison. I was free but the pain remained. My family came to my rescue and realized my arm had been broken. I was drowned in apologies and whisked to the emergency room. A cast was placed on my arm and the apologies still came. Caution murdered my parent’s playfulness that night and things were never the same.

I love the last line.

So, how about you? Any takes from childhood that is never to be forgotten? Are you dying to blog but don’t want to have your own week to week, day to day? Email me at vickilanewrites at yahoo.com with your blog idea. I’d love to have you.

Writing Wishes and Plotting Dreams,
Vicki

4 comments:

Patricia W. said...

Great last line. I remember my dad closing my finger in the trunk of the car because I carelessly rested my hand there when he was taking out the groceries, and he, not seeing my hand, closed it. I completely understand Aaron's last line.

Anonymous said...

I remember getting my finger caught in the swing set while pushing my brother. It bled everywhere and my dad eventually had to pull the rest of my fingernail off so the new one could grow in. Love the last line.

Liza

Karen Lingefelt said...

A true story with a surprise twist! As I was reading, I kept waiting for Aaron and his relatives to start slipping and falling on the wet floor, and was sure the story would end with the whole family in traction. Thank heavens it didn't come to that, but oh, how painful for Aaron!

When I was three years old, I had to get three stitches in my upper lip after I ran into a bedpost while chasing my brother. Last year my dentist said my two front teeth were dead, likely the result of a trauma to my mouth. When he asked what that trauma might be, all I could think of was that childhood accident. As I still had baby teeth then, the two permanents-in-waiting were right in the line of fire. Fortunately the teeth cause me no problems and work just fine; still I was shocked to learn this.

Vicki said...

Thanks Aaron for guest blogging. :)

I'd love to have you do it again sometime. :)