Twisted Humor - funny childhood stories

When I was five I went to the neighbor’s house to play often. I don’t remember it very well but I remember the day I had my first pretzel. We were playing in the ditch between our houses and one of the neighbor children had what appeared to be a bag of chips. I had no tact when I was a child and I boldly asked for a chip. When the little girl handed me a pretzel I looked at it curiously then I popped it in my mouth. As I rolled the smooth strange tasting item around in my mouth I tried hard not to make horrible faces as I struggled not to gag. I did not want to offend the child who so generously shared with me but I wanted so badly to get the wretched thing out of my mouth. I bent down to play in the dirt as I pretended to chew and discretely spit the pretzel in the dirt under a bush. I still cannot stand the taste or smell of pretzels to this day. When I was pregnant even the smell of a pretzel would make me vomit. I had six children so that was a challenge, I had no idea how many people ate pretzels until my senses were heightened by pregnancy and I could not ignore it. Lesson in life; treat all new foods with caution as they might cause a lifetime aversion.
I also remember the day we went to the neighbor’s house to play and someone got the bright idea to climb on the trucks and cars parked in the driveway. I was up on a particularly tall truck (at least it was tall to my little five yr. old self) when the Dad neighbor came out of the house to discover five little monkeys climbing all over the shiny vehicles. He yelled robustly at us to get off of the vehicles. I was afraid of him and scrambled to get off as fast as I could. In my rush I slipped and fell catching myself by the vent at the top of the hood with my tender little fingers. The sharp metal of the hood sliced right through four of my fingers on my right hand. I cried profusely and the scary neighbor swooped me up, wrapped my hand with something and took me swiftly home to my mom, who in turn rushed me to the emergency room for stitches. I sliced my pinkie finger almost to the bone and when I do finger prints now I have a great scar across this finger and a small one on several others. I loved doing fingerprint animals in third grade my pinkie makes a great frog. Lesson in life, Dad neighbors are not as scary as they might first appear.
When I was seven my brother and I went riding on our ponies. I got stuck with Dynamite while Jeremy rode Ginger. Ginger was by far the better horse and the one we both preferred to ride. She was a dainty Shetland pony and was dapple grey and white paint mare. She handled like a dream whereas Dynamite was a typical stubborn pony. He did not like to move and you had to kick him twice as hard and he was barn sour and you had to fight every step of the way to leave the house. We rode up the hill to my aunt’s house. Her place was fenced in barbed wire and Jeremy and I in our free spirited rebellious childhood ways had jumped on these wonderful companions bareback, barefoot in shorts as it was a hot summer day. As we rode and laughed through the tall brush in the field around my aunt’s house Dynamite decided it was time to go home and tried to do so by heading for home through the field towards the barbed wire with no gate. I tried my best to correct him. I turned him and kicked him and he circled around and around closer and closer to the barbed wire. I finally was able to get him to follow Ginger around the pasture fence. We followed the bottom of the fence to the bend then headed back up towards the gate. Dynamite stalled in his forward motion and I struggled with all my might to make him go away from the house towards the gate. My little seven year old legs and bare feet were no match for dynamite’s tough hide and he was responding by continuing to turn back toward the house. I was so intent on the horse beneath me that I did not notice how close the fence was and I gave one mighty kick only to have the skin on my foot snag on a barb on the fence. I howled and Jeremy came to my rescue just a little too late. I handed him my reins took one look at the blood bubbling out of my foot and started running towards my house crying and screaming for my mom. As I flew through the sagebrush and around the cactus the powdery dirt puffed around my feet caking to the bleeding wound in my foot. When I reached the house out of breath and sobbing my mom looked panicked as she saw my blood streaked, dirt caked foot and she rushed me to the bathtub right away. The water from the faucet cascaded down my foot and washed away the dirt. I heard my mom say to my dad that it was not as bad as she thought it was but that I would need a few stitches. I cried all the way to the emergency room and howled relentlessly as the doctor stitched it up. I still have a scar on my left foot to remind me and I never let my horse get within ten feet of a barbed wire fence even if I do have shoes on my feet. Life lesson even if it is hot dress appropriately for the occasion – including shoes.
When I was eight my sister, Brenda, brought her boyfriend to our house. I was so determined to impress him that I went to the pasture to catch my pony ginger. Ginger was a quick whispy thing and I loved to ride her. I put her halter on and hopped on bareback. I trotted her around showing my skill at horseback riding. The barrels were always set up in the pasture for us to practice with and I decided that I had to show him how well I could barrel race. I pointed Ginger towards the first barrel and we were off. I raced around the barrels with ease but I didn’t account for the fact that Ginger was used to the gates opening at the end of her barrel run at the gymkhanas and at the end of this run there was a solid fence. I held onto her halter and pulled with all my might hollering whoa. Ginger came to a sliding stop just in time not to go through the fence. The only problem was with no saddle to hold me in place I kept right on going and flew head first right through the log fence. I cried and called for my mom. When my parents discovered what had happened they sent me to my room as punishment for riding with just a halter and running around the barrels which was obviously not safe. My arm hurt and I sat in my room on my bed crying because of the pain but also because I was embarrassed. As time passed my arm began to feel tight and I cried harder. Eventually I began to call for my mom. She in turn ignored me thinking I just wanted attention. When my arm turned purple my screams for my mom intensified to panic. When mom finally responded she took one look at my bent swollen arm and proclaimed that dad had better come and take a look at this. My sister Brenda felt guilty and decided that she needed to accompany me to the Emergency room. On the way there she was trying to make me feel better and told me that it might not be broken it might just be dislocated and all the doctor would have to do was pull on my arm and put it back in place. I wailed and my mom looked crossly at her. Brenda was quiet the rest of the way to the emergency room. I cried and they had to hold me down to wrap it. I remember Brenda trying to help and making it worse for me. I remember screaming with bright lights shining on me and leaving with a sling which I hated to wear. Life lesson – boys are never that important.
When we went to Grandma’s house that summer I wanted so bad to swim in the river with everyone else. The hot summer sun made my cast itchy and miserable. My mom finally agreed that I could wade in the shallow parts of the river if my sisters would watch me. My cousins were also there and Richard was helping my sisters watch me. He was guiding me to the sandbars and telling me where it was safe to walk. As I walked across a sandbar in the middle of the river I held my arm over my head as the water engulfed me up to my chest. I stepped one careful step after careful step only to step off the edge of the sand bar falling all the way into the river getting my cast wet as I waved my arms trying not to drown. I remember coming out of the water and seeing Richard rolling with laughter. I was crying and my sisters were laughing right along with Richard. I went to the house and told my mom what happened and she was so very mad at my sisters. MY aunt scolded Richard and told him that my arm wasn’t going to heal right now and that it was his fault. My arm did not heal right and I had to have surgery to fix it. I don’t know if it was the fall into the river or the fact that I refused to wear my sling properly that did it. I had to stay the night in the hospital and my dad bought me a teddy bear that wore a t-shirt that said I AM BAR BEAR IC AROUND YOU. I loved that bear and took him everywhere with me for a long time. I spent most of 3rd grade in a cast and have a large scar that seems to have nerve damage. I can’t stand to have anyone touch it, it creeps me out. Life lesson – never let the ornery cousin guide you through the sandbars.
I don’t remember how old I was but I was in the corral with all of the horses. I had a coffee can full of grain with which I was trying to catch my pony. I was ducking in and around the big horses trying to get Ginger away from them. I also don’t remember how exactly it happened but Ginger spun around to get away from me and kicked all at the same time. When she spun she pulled me off balance and I fell right into the path of her foot as she tried to nail one of the big horses. She kicked me right in the middle of the forhead hard enough to knock me out for a split second. It hurt but I was determined to ride so I caught Ginger, went riding, and refrained from telling anyone. I look back now and I know that it could have been very bad and that I was very lucky. The scar on my forhead is worse than it should have been because I didn’t tell my mom right away so I didn’t get stitches. I don’t know if that is because I didn’t want to get in trouble or if I just didn’t think it was a big deal to get kicked in the head by a horse.
My mom had a funny way of taking care of me. She believed in wives tales and home remedies and would try anything once. When I was twelve I got a kitten from my best friend. She was a Siamese Manx and I loved that kitten. She was my constant companion; she even slept in my bed with me. Back then I typically slept on my stomach and this kitten would curl up in the small of my back. I developed a strange rash and my mom concluded in all of the medical knowledge she had gained over the years that I had ringworm from the cat. The vet had told her that Bleach would cure ringworm on the cats so I was told to lie on a towel on the vinyl couch while my mom poured bleach over the rash on my back. It burned and I screeched. I was left with a bubbled scabbed mess on my back that scarred with little white bumps permanently in the small of my back. Lessons in life - if the cat scars you just don’t notice? Or Little girls and cats should not receive the same medical treatment. Especially if it is a backwoods remedy from an ancient vet.

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