dopey, fingernails and me.

We were going to the library to pick up a copy of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs for Sarah, who needed it for a school report.  Bruce, her older brother, 5 grades our elder was muscular with attributes of a body builder...I think he might have even competed, walked us there to get the book.  Sarah was 9, I was 8.  I was expecting to see a picture book with the disney images of the sneezy et. al. and was disappointed to see a fairly abstractly illustrated version of the tale, that barely resembled the common and commercial version we were used to.  As the librarian was checking out the book and inserting the green index card that had the return date stamped on the top by one of those ink stampers that had scrolling numbers and months on something that resembled the tracks of a tank, i strayed.  I strayed to the double set of heavy glass doors with long worn brass handles.  I opened and let them close repeatedly and would try to catch the door just before the compressed air hinges puffed them closed.  As I  was "playing with them", an older women walked into the library with her bag of books to return and gave me a stern warning to cease playing with them or I was going to get hurt. While I tend to recall that I was a very respectful of my elders type of kid who always listened to authority, this time i disregarded.  I continued as she passed me.  She jinxed me.  On the last close, and it was the last for a reason, my left hand missed the long handle and grabbed the edge of the door instead.  I knew this was bad, but the door was too heavy to hold with my eight year old finger tips.  So it pressed, compressed and crushed my four finger tips just above the last knuckle. silence.  silent scream. tears rolling down my face and finally a horror scream.

Bruce swept me up, threw me over his shoulder as if I was a sack of potatos and ran me home.  I remember the bouncing as he carried only made my throbbing fingertips throb more.  My dad took a large yogurt container and filled it with ice and water and submerged my fingertips as if i was getting prepped for a manicure.  They pulsated and thumped and stung.  That was enough for that day.  In the coming days, all of the nails fell off which sounds much more horrifying than it was to actually experience. 

So what's the moral of the story?...why am I telling you about this?  I don't know.  but I have flashes of this story several times a year and i find it humbling to recall that even the best kids can hold a deaf ear to reason, and that's ok.  we all get our fingers smashed by something in life.