My life hasn't been the best and it sure hasn't been the worst. I have had my share of I don't know what I would call it, but I have had my share of it. I can remember being five, yes I remember that well, I had this bicycle. It was my first two-wheeled bicycle that was blue and white striped with training wheels of course. The hard plastic seat, that made you want to stand to ride it even though at five we couldn't do that as we didn't have any coordination to do such things. It had the shiny chrome fenders on both wheels and yellowish orange reflectors on the spokes of both tires. It was a great bike. One afternoon on this glorious summer day, my brother and I were outside playing in the yard. There was no indoors playing then, 40 years ago, who could have ever imagined typing this memoir on my MacBook then. We're playing in the front yard and my brother decided he wanted to take my bike and turn it upside down so we could turn the pedals by hand and spin the tires really fast. It seemed fun to me, after all he was my older brother and he always did fun stuff, well at least to me it seemed fun. Tom, my older and only brother is four years older than me and since I was quite the tomboy growing up I loved hanging out with him. I went along with just about anything he wanted to do. Over went my bike and we would get the tire spinning so fast you could barely see the spokes they seemed as if they were one. Cool was all I thought of. We quick ran in the house, grabbed some playing cards and clothes pins. Came out and attacked them to the fender. Now this was just incredible, tick, tick, tick, tick. The sound was just so crazy. Quick we flipped the bike over and did the same to his bike and off we went, riding around, and doing this to the both tires. Making a ramp of two cinder blocks and jumping the bikes off the ramp now. I was having such a great day. Who could want more. My mom yelled at my brother, don't hurt the baby, meaning me of course, umpf, still the baby to this day of course, but that's ok. We had to stop and back to the front yard we went. Tom or Tommy as I called him then wanted to flip the bike over again so we did and back to making funny sounds. Getting some twigs and anything we could find to tap on the spokes. Next, he grabbed some sand and started throwing it in the gears where the pedals turn, the sprocket area. Well, so much for that idea. The chain didn't want to go around much anymore. He looks at me and says clean that out of there. After all its all full of grease and he is the oldest, so I listen to him. In go my fingers to get the sand out and whoosh, there go my fingers, they get caught and sling half way around the sprocket. My left ring finger, stuck; I mean really stuck, blood going everywhere. Oh shit is Tommy in serious trouble! I'm screaming and the pedals are stuck. He backs it up and my fingers are free. I'm now looking at my hand holding it with the other one. Tommy looked at me and tells me not to tell my mom. He knew in that moment that he was in deep shit. I run in the house of course to tell my mom that Tommy cut off my finger. My mom of course, the mom of four kids, by now nothing really bothers her and not over reacting to anything, says,"Let me kiss your boo-boo and make it feel better." Well, that was a holy shit moment for my mother to say the least. I hold up my hand and my finger drenched in blood and my finger top dangling, she just screamed, "Thomas Albert!" Oh, I knew in that instant that was it for him. She wrapped me up in a kitchen towel and ice and ran me to the neighbors. I was born the fourth in a low income family. We only had one car and at that time, my father, who had already left us and my mom was living with my soon-to-be stepdad had the car at work. My neighbor, who was my best friends grandparents, Abe, drove like a bat out of Hell to Horton Hospital Emergency Room, so they could sew my finger back on. It seems like yesterday that the big surgeon light was over me and the blue sterile blanket was there. 57 stitches later and the doctor gave me the whole bag of lollipops because I was so good. God, I loved that hospital then. What happened to the good ole' days, when everyone cared about everyone. The scar still remains but the nerves and tendons were damaged in my finger and I was told I would probably never be able to feel it or even use it again. That I would be lucky if the nail ever comes back normally. All I have to say is today you can barely tell anything ever happened. I know that the day it happened is a day I will never forget, but the doctor who kept it for me, thank you, thank you, thank you. It was only attacked by the skin and nothing more by the time I got to the hospital. 40 years ago and this was done. I am so grateful to him. My finger may look a little funny and the one next to it may be crooked still, but it there still. Oh, and Tommy, yes, yes he did get grounded and a spanking. In those days and old-fashioned spanking was allowed. After all, mommy did tell him not to hurt her baby.
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