Go back with me to the same stairway that was in my last post. At the top of the stairs, the hall ran off to the left. At the end of the hall was the bedroom I was sleeping in before I braved the Doberman. However, just at the beginning of the hall at the top of the stairs, on the left, was my uncle’s bedroom. It was in this bedroom one day that all sorts of crazy talk was going on that led to me receiving my second head wound; that and an innocent looking bookshelf at the bottom of the stairs.
I was playing on these stairs one day when I heard voices coming from my uncle’s room at the top. I was a curious little boy (now I’m a curious big boy) and thought I’d sneak up the stairs, keeping pressed against them to remain out of sight. I made it to the top, and in my uncle’s bedroom he and his sisters were talking. When I first heard them, the conversation must have been a bit boring because I figured it would be more fun to roll down the stairs than to continue listening to the conversation. So I did. It was great fun. Fun enough to do again…sneak to the top of the stairs….roll down the stairs. Oh, the excitement for one too young to ride the good stuff at the fair!
Sometime during this grand ride, I picked up a blanket. Maybe I figured that hiding low to the stairs wasn’t concealing enough and I needed covering in case someone decided to peek out of the bedroom? They would notice a cute little kid hiding on the stairs, but a lumpy blanket lying on the stairs would be innocuous enough, to be sure. So, wrapped inside the blanket, I crept up the stairs. This time near the top of the stairs, instead of hearing boring talk, I heard my aunts and uncle talking about Satan! What twisted words did my little mind absorb? They were saying blasphemous things like “I’ll bet the devil doesn’t have wings, or a pitchfork,” and “I bet he looks handsome.” Things that were too much for my little ears to believe. I wanted none of this talk, so I tucked into my blanket and rolled down the stairs, like I had been doing before. This time, however, I was blind inside the blanket. I couldn’t see how far down I was, nor (apparently) did I remember what lied directly at the very bottom of the stairs: a dangerous bookshelf. Since my head was on the side toward the wall (as was the bookshelf) we had an unfortunate encounter at the foot of the stair. This time splitting my head open near the right temple.
Yet again, next thing I remember is my mom bandaging the cut on the side of my head. Nurse-moms are good to have; you never have to get stitches as a little kid. Butterfly bandages always seem to do the trick, even if they leave bigger scars.
Next time: Jumping Track from Our Usual Sunday Night