Stories of my Mommy #3

For my boys

When I was four, my brother had a red pedaled jeep and my mom thought it would be a great, fun thing for us to ride down the street with it.

Our house was on a hill and adjacent to our property, the street went down at a slant, leveled off where another street crossed it, then slanted down again.

There we were at the top looking down at the hill. I remember imagining what it would be like to go down, wind blowing through my hair as I sat on the back of the jeep. Then I was living it. I have no idea how long it actually took to ride down---seconds probably---but I don't remember the ride down at all. It's just the end that I remember.

When we got to the bottom, a car was driving down the cross street. My brother had the presence of mind to turn the jeep quickly to the left to avoid it. There was screaming, I remember, and all of a sudden we were on the ground and my face hurt. There was a commotion and Mommy was more than upset with herself.

There was a visit from the doctor (she was a personal friend) to check our injuries. My brother's left arm and leg were scratched up. Most of the left side of my face was scratched, the top layer of skin gone because of friction, so were parts of my left arm and leg. Funny thing about physical pain: you remember how much it hurt, but you can't remember it to relive it in your mind. That's good because if the photos Mommy took of us are any indication, there was quite a bit of pain.

I know, though, that the doctor had her clean the wounds daily with hydrogen peroxide, but I made a deal with Mommy that she would do it while we were asleep. Well, more like I screamed and hollered and carried on so much that she didn't want to have someone else hold me down so she could do it. She cried when she tried to and I'm sure I gave her grief over it. As deep as the wound on my face was, I'm still surprised I have no scars.