Friday, November 9, 2012


I am prone to injury. I cut bagels and rolls into the palm of my hand. I've dumped quarts of boiling water on myself while draining corn on the cob. And, I was never, ever allowed to operate the lawnmower. I guess my Dad realized that an hour of free physical labor wasn't worth the cost of buying your child a prosthetic limb. I've made it through life mostly unscathed, but I do have my fair share of scars. My arms are riddled with them, the small kind, mostly stemming from run-ins with irons, stoves, hair straighteners, and other household appliances that emit heat and have the ability to burn. Some of these scars fade over time, and new ones take their place. But, there are two scars on my right wrist that have been with me since childhood Two scars resulting from a day that started with a Kool-Aid stand and ended with a dog fight.

On a hot summer day, my sister and I agreed to have said Kool-Aid stand with the neighbor boys who lived down the street from us. I would hazard a guess that we made little to no money from this venture. But that wasn't really the point. The point was to spend the afternoon drinking the watered down Kool-Aid ourselves. And it was probably in the best interest of any potential customers to avoid our wares at all costs seeing that these particular neighbors were not known for their cleanliness. In fact, they were known to pee out of the second story windows of their home (who has time to walk to a bathroom?) and at one point their family pet was a pot-bellied pig which they accommodated by laying a bed of straw over the entire surface of the downstairs floor.

Speaking of pets, this brings me to the tragedy that ended the Kool-Aid stand and left me forever scarred. As I have mentioned before, our dog, Barney, was difficult to contain. He was always following us around, and on this particular day, he decided to meander down to our Kool-Aid stand. This may not have been a problem had it not been for the fact that the neighbors also had a dog, named Crockett, who was difficult to contain.

So once Barney showed up, Crockett was immediately there to face off with him. The two dogs stared each other down and began to growl in an ominous manner. It was clear that something bad was going to go down, and I began to panic. I thought that I could talk Barney out of this dog fight and make him go home, but when I realized that wasn't going to work, I resorted to sheer force. The sheer brute force of a gangly nine year old girl. I pulled and pulled at Barney's collar to no end. He wasn't about to move and the growling had turned into loud, sharp barking. The next thing I knew, Crockett lunged forward, and in attempt to bite Barney on the neck, sunk his teeth into the soft skin of my wrist where I was holding the collar.

This brought the Kool-Aid stand to an abrupt end. After some blood and some crying and a big Tetanus shot, I was fine. But, that was the last Kool-Aid stand I ever had. And the last time I ever even considered getting in the middle of a dog fight. I had the scars to prove what a bad idea that can be.

1 comment:

  1. Your battle scars should be a warning to any perps of the sheer brute force that you surely still have raging inside :)

    I love how you set the scene by telling a little more about your accident prone-ness (do you also spill things frequently? I'm required to drink out of water bottles at home due to my propensity for kicking over cups) ... and your unhygienic neighbors. I laughed out loud several times!

    Totally off point, but boy would I love to have a pot-bellied pig as a pet.