Wednesday, September 02, 2015

Worth a Thousand Words

Briefly, as it's getting late, here is something that was brought to my mind tonight when my mother and I were talking tonight about the time that I fell down the stairwell. I don't think I've told you the story of the stairwell and the radiator before, have I? There are a few things you need to put this in context:
  • I was six or thereabouts.
  • I fell down from almost the third floor to the first.
  • I hit my head on the radiator, the bottom pipe that curved into the floor.
  • I broke it. Broke the radiator. With my head.
  • And, incidentally, when we were little, my brother and I weren't allowed to have sweet cereals: nothing with sugar as one of the first three ingredients, except once a year on our birthdays.
So, after I was hauled off to the hospital and they were sure I'd live (only a concussion, from breaking a radiator with my head, it's a miracle), my mother made a list of all the sweet cereals I could name, and when I got home from the hospital (after a week, if memory serves, which it may not), they were all there waiting for me. A long line of boxes on top of the fridge.
It's obviously my mother's writing for the most part, though I amended the first one. I didn't know how to spell "berries," but after all my mother didn't know how to spell "Chocula," so there we are. (That paper I have about loving hockey and the Bruins, that would be about the same era, I suppose, the one where I spelled Buyck right but "Jhon" wrong.)

Funny the things that make the biggest memories, isn't it?

1 Comments:

Blogger Leslie said...

You broke the cast iron radiator with your head. OK.

Some people had much more adventurous childhoods than I.

11:36 AM, September 04, 2015  

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