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:
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,