On being four years old

     At a park somewhere in Japan, Nagasaki, I think.  On an Air Force base.  I am sure it was base housing with a lot of kids running around and lots of trouble to get into.  I have a brother, Ron,  who is a couple years older than myself.  I don't remember him on the playground, but he was always egging me on to do stupid things, then I'd get hurt and he'd run off laughing to the high heavens.
Rug-rats everywhere at the park.  When a older kid, 6 or 7,  Ricky Green, I think, came and showed us his new toy.  A bow and arrow set.  It was like giving us all ten pieces of cake with powdered sugar and candy on the top.  I remember the place went crazy,  Kids running this way and that.  This big kid shooting the arrow and us little kids chasing it down and bringing it back to him.  That was a pretty good gig for him; shoots the arrow all over the place and never has to chase it down.
      As things go, you have to "up" the game a bit.  He gathered us all around like a little football huddle and said, "All you guys and gals, go to the other end of the park and I'll shoot this arrow high into the sky.  If any one of you can catch it I will let you shoot it next."  Delight!  How cool.  I get to shoot the arrow,  I can catch it, no problem.  Off we went like a herd of little lemmings.  Some bunched in a group, some spread out and others in their strategic position ready for the first flight.  I positioned myself right in front, maybe fifty yards (or fifty feet, who knows) from the archer. I kept my eyes on the direction of the bow and where it was pointed.  As he drew the string back and raised the bow to about a 45 degree angle it looked as if it was pointed right at me.  "Twang."  The bow string was released and the arrow took flight.  Heading right at me.  Up, Up, it went then began to arc ever so gently.  Down it was coming and right at me.  My arms automatically began to raise, my hands made a circle ready to snatch the arrow from the sky.  I've got it, I've got it.  BAM,  The frickin arrow hit me just above my left eye.  I am down,  I can't see.  Kids everywhere.  Panic is all I remember.  God. my dad is gonna kill me.  I don't know why, but the next few minutes were a blur.  A red one, at that.  Blood everywhere.  You know those head wounds, they can bleed.  Then my mom is running me into the house where she turns on the bath tub and sticks me, clothes and all, under the water to wash the blood off and evaluated the damage.  This is the first ever recorded use of water-boarding of a four year old.  It was torture,  What ever happened to the phrase, "put pressure on the wound"?  The more she rinsed off the wound the more it bled.  After many minutes,  seemed like hours,  she gave up and took me out of the bath tub, wrapped my head in a bloody towel and took me to the emergency room.

     This all happened before Code Blue and Trauma One, but I do remember everyone acting pretty fast with my hysterical mom, carrying a frightened kid with his head wrapped in a bloody towel, into the E.R that day.  I remember 5, yea count them 5, airmen holding me down so the doctor could wash and sew up the gash from the errant arrow.  One airman for each extremity and one to hold my body and my head still.  This was full on war.  You are not holding me down,  I want none of this.  I am fine; let me bleed to death, I don't care.  Hey, that's a big needle, don't stick it in my forehead.  Augh.......
Stop it, Stop it.
    My mom was always sure that I would NOT go into the medical field.  You see this was just the beginning of a long and storied relationship with emergency rooms and doctors, none of which I wanted any part of.  I was always active, a bit hyper, a Daniel Boone sort of meets McGiver guy.  Always wiling to give it a go, but also very aware of what can await if taken just a little bit too far.
    Now, I am more mature.  Or, I've just given up.  Now I gladly let doctors stick needles in my throat, if it will help cure this thing that I've got.  As we grow, we realize that pain is just part of the game.  I have seen people in pain that looked from the outside as unbearable.  My heart and soul goes out to these people who deal with the upper levels of discomfort and come out on the other side.  Burns can be the worst.  Be careful with fire and boiling water.  That and a person's skin doesn't mix well.   The human psyche is strong.  You don't know how strong until you have to go through something.  The spirit seems to always rise up and be ready for the task.  Maybe not in that exact moment when the needle is coming at your forehead, but sometime down the trail when we internalize and find out it is for our own good and that those around us are on our side and only trying to help.
    Next time someone wants to do something for you, let them.  It will benefit both of you.
My two cents on another day in the life.   Namaste.